


The Game Remains the Same

by wickedrose16



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ...Sorry, ...because I love Brienne, F/M, Fic for coping, Fix-It, I was so upset I decided to write, I will try and make Braime shippers happy, If anyone is still out there, I’m indifferent to Lannisters, My first fic, Takes place after the Battle of Winterfell, and Brienne deserves love, i hope y’all like it, s8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19262650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrose16/pseuds/wickedrose16
Summary: LISTEN—if D&D can do whatever they want—so can IMost of the conflict in S8 could have been avoided if these characters were given the opportunity to actually SPEAK and EXPLAIN themselves to one another.Happiness and support for Daenerys (because the poor woman deserves it after the bullshit that was S8)Jon can’t be a know nothing sad boy forever (S8 forced it, and its not endearing anymore)Bran and Arya’s characterization leans on their book counterpart.After seasons of being forced into the game, Sansa has learned to use it to her advantage, but I’d like to think that she wouldn’t care for a crown. (Even if she deserves one)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I don’t own these characters. There may be a few lines from the show in this first chapter, (credit to GOT, D&D, HBO, GRRM) but I deviate after this.

She traces the branded figure on the steel breast plate as she tries to hold in her emotions. She lets in an unsteady breath, and it catches in her throat. A keening wail escapes her lips, and she falls apart—Sansa isn’t aware of how long she cries nor is she aware of the moment when the door to her rooms open, a man entering quietly. She startles at the gentle hand on her back and looks up to see the long face of her older brother.

Jon stares down at the breast plate with a frown before his face changes, “I had no idea Sansa. I hadn’t—well I hadn’t known the two of you were as close as…that.” He finishes lamely.

“He was the only one who could have possibly understood who I am. We suffered the same. I thought—I had hoped that after this—it was stupid. Stupid. I am so stupid…” She feels her brother hug her tightly, rocking her for a long time as she cries desperately.

Safe in his arms, she is painfully reminded of when she was a child. Robb doing the same as Jon, anytime she was hurt or sad. Both Jon and Theon watching bemusedly as Robb indulged her with his sympathy.

Jon pulls away to wipe filthy hands across her cheeks, smearing the dirt from his fingers with her tears. He looks apologetic, but she just smiles sadly. “Dany thought we should send his bones to the Iron Islands, to Queen Yara. Perhaps it is better if he stays here.”

Sansa shakes her head, “This will always be his home, but he belongs in the sea, Jon. Daenerys Targaryen is right.”

“What if we send him off on the edge of the Wolfswoods, into the Sunset Sea? He’ll rest in the North and the sea. Dany can speak to his sister, if you’d like?”

Sansa shrugs noncommittally. She suddenly feels so tired, and she wants to be alone, to mourn. She hears the creaking of Bran’s chair as Arya pushes him into her rooms, and she sighs quietly. Her little brother looks at them blankly, and she frowns. She wants to ask him about Theon, but she cannot bring herself to do it just yet. The silence that follows is melancholic and weighed down by the loss and horror of the Long Night.

“What happens now?” Arya mumbles eventually.

Jon speaks, “We will burn the dead, and we will prepare to go South. Dany is determined to be rid of Cersei Lannister, the sooner, the better.”

“Going South so soon?! Our men are tired and most of them injured—they need rest!” Sansa spoke up in anger.

“We _owe_ this to her. Daenerys is ready to sit on that throne—as is her right.” Sansa catches the moment Jon looks at Bran uneasily.

“Tell them Jon.” Bran speaks monotonously.

“It doesn’t matter Bran!” Jon’s voice carries, and Sansa is taken aback by the bitterness she hears.

“They deserve to know. Sansa and Arya are your family too— _not just her_.”

“You don’t think I know that?! The three of you are my family! The family I’ve known since each of you were born!”

“What are the two of you going on about?” Arya asks impatiently.

“My mother...” Jon says in defeat, his feet carrying him to Sansa’s small window in her rooms.

“Your mother? I don’t understand. Do you know who she is?” Sansa heard the disbelief in her own voice as she looks between Bran and Jon.

Jon nods dismally, “She was Lyanna Stark, and my father—my real father—was Rhaegar Targaryen. Bran saw it in one of his visions. Sam confirmed it.”

“Confirmed it?” Sansa asks faintly.

“Jon’s mother and father were in love, and they ran away together. Rhaegar never stole her as has been believed. There is a diary written by a High Septon who married the two of them. Samwell Tarly found it in the Citadel. Jon isn’t a bastard. He was born Aegon Targaryen. Father hid him from Robert Baratheon for fear of his wrath.” Bran stated evenly.

Sansa couldn’t help the hysterical laughter that bubbled from her lips. It was cathartic; her head falling back as her eyes brimmed with tears that weren’t caused by the loss of Theon Greyjoy. She wipes her tears, Jon’s dirt and the snot underneath her nose, across the cuffs of her sleeves, and she watches as Jon eyes her impassively. He looks so much like the father in her memories that there is absolutely no reason for her to believe that Jon and Bran speak truthfully.

She sobers up enough to realize that it isn’t some mad jest, and her laughter dies as she inhales shakily, “But—but that means…”

“ _Don’t_.” Jon says it emphatically, and Sansa swallows her words. She looks between all of them helplessly. Of course Jon wouldn’t want to face what the truth meant. He hadn’t even wanted to be King in the North; why would he fight for the Iron Throne?

“The North has suffered many losses after last night. We may need the crown in hopes of having our keep, our homesteads and our stores rebuilt and there will most likely be infighting for those vying for the deceased noble houses. We will need help with all of this. If the North understands that we are still serving a Stark they may be less bitter about rejoining the crown.” It was Arya who spoke up, and Sansa stared at her open-mouthed. Arya eyes her blandly before shrugging nonchalantly.

Sansa turns to Jon as he looks at their sister dumbly before speaking, “Is that what you have to say about it?!”

Arya looks at him, discomfited, before looking to Sansa and back, as if asking for help. “It is the past Jon, and father did it to protect you. I think we can all understand why he would do something like that. Robert Baratheon would have killed you. Father was honorable in doing this, as he always was. Besides, you’ll always be our brother, King of the Seven Kingdoms or not. I don’t know what you expected me to say.” She says it earnestly, and Sansa finds herself agreeing.

He spoke up angrily, “I will not turn against Dany! She has given up too much, and I—”

“—love her.” Sansa represses the urge to shiver in disgust. Instead she asks evenly, “It doesn’t bother you?”

“W-We couldn’t have known. I’m afraid it is too late—in any regards.” Jon speaks shyly.

“It isn’t as if Targaryens are not familiar with—familial relations. History has shown that Starks have their own fair share too. Does the Dragon Queen know of your true parentage?” Arya speaks bluntly.

Jon stutters, “Y-Yes, she wasn’t exactly pleased about it, but we hadn’t more than a moment to speak of it.”

“You told _her_ , before you told _us_?!” Sansa scoffs indignantly.

Arya sighs, “Jon, you need to speak with her. If you hadn’t noticed, our people weren’t exactly warmed to hers coming here in the first place. In fact, they’ve been quite deplorable about it. There is too much to be done, and no one should see the two of you at odds with one another. Morale is low, and it will give our people a cause for unwarranted hostility if we allow their prejudices to continue.” Arya voices reason again, and Sansa turns to look at her in shock once more; her little sister rolls her eyes at her.

“Sansa, you have been very vocal about the North’s independence. I need to know that you will not use this as a means to rise against Dany— _to press your own issue_.” Jon’s voice was weighted with determination.

Now it was Sansa who had the childish urge to roll her eyes, “Oh, of course! What with the army we have left Jon, I’ll definitely have the opportunity! It’s not like she has two grown dragons to contend with! Oh, wait—”

Arya tries to dispel the tension, “Both of you stop it! Sansa has only ever cared that our home and our family are safe. She would never maliciously pit you against your queen, Jon.”

Sansa grimaces at that lie before looking to him, “You asked me recently if I had any faith in you. I told you that I did, and I meant it. Don’t I deserve the same?”

Jon watches her for a long moment before nodding. “Yes, of course you do Sansa. But you haven’t made any of this easy for me— _I am trying to do the right thing_.”

“Why are you so certain that this is right?!” Sansa stands up as Jon’s face turns angry, “She isn’t one of us! We—” She gesticulates between the four of them wildly, “are a pack! Father always told us that, or have you chosen to forget the man who raised you?! He was your real father!”

“You think I give a shit about Rhaegar Targaryen?!” Jon’s voice booms, and Sansa feels Arya move closer to them. “ _I know who my father was_! All of my life, I wished I knew who my mother was, and I finally know now! _She is who is important to me_! I prayed as a child to have father’s last name, to not be a bastard! I’m a Stark, and I know that, more than ever now! How dare you accuse me of turning against the man who raised me!”

“Then what is this about?! Why are you so determined to force us to side with the Targaryen queen—I won’t let her take the North from us!”

“Take the North?! Do you hear yourself?! The only one who took it from us was Theon!”

Sansa steps away in shock, “That’s not fair, Jon! He made a mistake, and he suffered for it—Theon was one of us!”

“He betrayed Robb and took the North from him, and we forgave him! Why is it so hard for you to accept Daenerys when all she has ever done is help us _save_ the North? Why can’t she be one of us? Sansa—she is my family now too, _by blood_. She has no one else. Don’t force me to choose a side because I will not!” Sansa moves back towards her bed, sitting down heavily. The tension in the room is overbearing, and she wonders why it has come to this—the fighting. Sansa feels the weariness weigh on her again, and she just wants to sleep.

She hears herself whisper, “Arya is right Jon, there is too much to be done after last night. We’ve all got our duties, but we should all get some rest first. I’m very tired.” Sansa knows that Arya is looking at her anxiously, but she just shakes her head.

Jon steps up to her hesitantly, and she meets him the rest of the way, lifting her head to allow his kiss to her forehead. He pulls away and tucks a finger under her chin, “ _The pack survives._ We need to rejoice in this; others weren’t so fortunate.” Sansa nods, her heart aching at the censured look he gives her.

Sansa watches him move to squeeze Bran’s shoulder before grasping Arya’s hand. The two of them make their leave from her rooms. She waits until she is sure that they are gone, and she and Bran are truly alone.

“Why did you not tell me about Jon?” Bran stays silent, and Sansa huffs impatiently, “He sees nothing past Daenerys Targaryen anymore. He will follow her South, and I’m certain he won’t return. Our men don’t do well South.”

“Why must you cause turmoil?” Sansa gasps at Bran as he looks at her impassively.

“Daenerys Targaryen is not one of us. She will hurt him; she is—she is—”

“ _She is not Cersei Lannister_.”

“She is a _Targaryen_. Her father murdered our grandfather and our uncle! Her brother, Rhaegar—” Sansa stops, wondering if she could really use that excuse anymore.

“Yes, Rhaegar took advantage of a young girl’s affections. But we cannot deny that our Aunt Lyanna willingly stole away into the night with her dragon prince. They couldn’t share their love openly and now they’re both tragically dead because of it. Not to mention it was one catalyst for an entire rebellion.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“ _I don’t see the future Sansa_ , only the past and what is now—the past has a dreadful habit of repeating itself. Jon will never know, but he is his mother and father personified. He was also raised with our own father’s honor. It’s a heady mixture of Targaryen and Stark—you should not force Jon to choose between love and the honor and loyalty that he bears for his Stark family.”

“What will you have me do then, Bran?”

“I can’t make you do anything Sansa, and you probably wouldn’t listen to me, even if I did try.”

Sansa smirks, “I’m always receptive of great advice.”

“Then you should go South, with Jon. He will need protection.”

“Bran, _be serious_. How could I possibly protect him?”

“I’ve been living the past; I’ve seen everything and everyone. A man’s rule has always superseded a woman’s. The only reason that Daenerys Targaryen came to Westeros in the first place was for the Iron Throne. But, all of Westeros knows the influence Jon has over the North. The North was willing to name a bastard as their king; can you imagine what would happen if the bastard’s _true identity_ was revealed?”

“They would all turn against Daenerys Targaryen.”

“ _Just as easily as you want to_.”

“Jon could be a better ruler than her.”

“Possibly, but he will never accept it. _Ever_. You will be fighting a losing battle Sansa, and you will turn him against you…or worse.”

“Worse?”

“Turn him against Daenerys Targaryen and put him in an impossible situation. He loves her, and if you force him to choose his family over her…it could ruin his life as well as countless others.”

“Bran—”

“You don’t like her. However, it’s unfounded because she has never done anything wrong, _other than having more power than you_.

“I’m not some power hungry fiend, Bran! I want the North and our family safe, that is it. Besides, the few people I’ve known to have more power than me, spent years selling me off or torturing me. Jon would never do that to me.”

“Daenerys Targaryen would never do that to you either. _You two have a lot more in common than you think_. She is loving, passionate, sympathetic and capable of great things. Yes, she can be known for her impulsiveness and letting her birthright get the best of her, but like you, she is very receptive of great advice. She hasn’t gotten much of it recently. Ser Barristan Selmy was a great advisor to her during her conquests across the Narrow Sea and especially, Jorah Mormont. We should fear his loss; he was good at reigning in her negative tendencies—you could become that for her. If she were so inclined to accept you, and you were able to let go of your own past. You would also have the benefit of being a close confidant to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; the North would certainly prosper for it. Otherwise, we can prepare for years of turmoil and war with the remaining six kingdoms.”

“Hardly—Lord Yohn Royce would side with me as would cousin Robyn, and I’m sure our Uncle Edmure would do the same.”

“ _Careful Sansa_ , you once warned Jon about Robb’s mistakes. Allowing the North to crown you as their queen will put a target on your head. Besides, I thought you weren’t power hungry—”

Sansa rolls her eyes at her brother, but she also abandons her rebellious thoughts and thinks on what he had just told her. “You said she has negative tendencies?” Bran nods at her once. “I understand punishing those who might turncloak, but Daenerys wouldn’t ever harm Jon for who he is, right?”

He sighs, “Who truly knows. She has fought too long for that throne; she may very well turn on anyone who is capable of taking it from her. She also—did not handle his parentage reveal very well.”

“And you want us to side with someone who could hurt our brother?”

Bran looked at her mildly, “I saw the conversation the two of you shared. You know she is as in love with him as he is her. She was persuaded to come here because of her love for _him_ …because the North means so much to him. She is impressionable, easily swayed if she finds something worthy— _so, sway her_. Get her on your side. I don’t understand why you didn’t do it to begin with.”

“You want me to play the game with her?” Sansa asked disbelievingly.

“As you have been.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play doltish Sansa. I’ve seen you. You’ve been testing her—being outwardly hostile, openly questioning her leadership, and trying to see how loyal her advisors are to her. You’ve also allowed the people of the North to mistreat her and her people.” Sansa scoffs at her brother’s preternatural capabilities that allow him to see what she has been doing since Daenerys’s arrival. “Don’t get me wrong, you are very good at it. Your time in King’s Landing has allowed you to learn from the best: Cersei, Littlefinger, Margery, Olenna Tyrell. You should teach her.”

Sansa sniffs, “Maybe I don’t want to play these games anymore.”

“But you love to—just as you loved doing it with Jon and Ramsay, Jon and Littlefinger, Littlefinger and Arya—”

“I did that to ensure that Winterfell was returned to the Starks! To make sure that I never had to worry that our home would be taken from us again! I wanted Ramsay dead for what Theon and I suffered! I wanted Littlefinger dead for giving me to that monster in the first place and for what he did to our family!”

“And you did it very well Sansa. No one knew a thing— _except me, of course, and Arya_.” Sansa smirks. “What makes you think that there isn’t someone willing to try and take our home away from us again? Lord Glover comes to mind, for one.” Sansa eyes her brother angrily, but he continues, “You know I am right.”

“Even if it were true, I swore to myself that I would never return to King’s Landing. I belong in the North. Plus, Daenerys has proven her power last night. She and her dragons and the rest of her army are more than capable of handling Cersei Lannister. Whatever happens in the South, she and Jon will deal with it.”

“If that is what you truly wish.” Sansa watches him move his chair towards her window, looking out at the training grounds.

“Why do you even care about any of this Bran? If I didn’t know better I’d say the three-eyed raven _feels_ more than he’s letting on.” Sansa is shocked to see the anger in his features as he turns to her. It is the strongest emotion she has seen cross his face since they were children. “Bran?” She asks faintly. Her brother sighs and looks away again.

“It seems the Night King’s mark on my arm was his hold over me, and the cause for my behavior. I am feeling more like my old self the longer he is gone, and I’m stuck in this stupid chair.” Sansa laughs disbelievingly as she nearly upends Bran from his seat to embrace him tightly. He makes a noise of annoyance, but he is smiling sadly as she pulls away, her tears falling for the return of her little brother.

“Sansa, it is alright. Please don’t cry.” Her brother bends forward to return her hug again, albeit awkwardly.

She pulls back, “Will you tell me about Theon?”

Bran shuts his eyes tiredly, “He was very brave; he and his men were the only thing between me and the Night King. If Arya hadn’t come…”

“You didn’t know she would?”

“I gave her that dagger because I knew she might use it to kill Littlefinger, _as you wanted_. My visions weren’t focused on her last night. I didn’t see her until I looked beyond the Night King, and she was traipsing across the Weirwood.” Bran grasps Sansa’s hands, “I may not have felt it as genuinely at the time, but I felt enough to tell Theon, to make sure he knew, that this was his home, that he belonged here, with us. He had to do this for himself. You couldn’t have convinced him otherwise; he was as stubborn as Robb was, you remember?”

She smiles sadly but with her heart feeling much lighter. “I just wish we could have had more time together.”

“It is, as it should be, Sansa.”

“I know.” She feels her tears falling heavily.

Bran grimaces, “I am so sorry Sansa.” She nods as he embraces her again.

Sansa takes a deep breath before coming to her decision, “Is there anyone who is disloyal to Daenerys Targaryen? I would like to know before I do this.”

Bran shakes his head and pulls away from her. “No one. _Her council is worrisome, however._ You must figure it out on your own if the time comes. I’ll be watching out for it too. You need to gain her trust and keep her ear. Jon will not give her up, and we won’t give him up. You must accept this—siding with Daenerys Targaryen is for the best.”

“Anyone who tries to hurt Jon—and Daenerys—are our enemies now too.” Bran grimaces and nods.

“Aside from Cersei, every single person that was in the Red Keep during your imprisonment has been killed or has sided with Daenerys. The game has followed you; you must keep those lurking, at bay.”

Sansa nods at her brother fervently. It was time for Sansa to slip on her old mask again. She smiled slyly at the thought. Arya wasn’t the only one with a different face, and it would seem that there was much work to be done now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m trying to wrap my head around this timeline. The past two seasons did ridiculous time jumps, and I’m trying to make it make sense. 
> 
> This chapter is during the celebration feast. I’m assuming it was at least two days after the Battle of Winterfell. These mofos all needed sleep and time to gather up the bodies to burn, there is no way the celebration feast happened the next night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hasn’t even been 24 hours, and I’m chuffed at all of the love and responses so far!
> 
> I was already finished with chapter 2 when I posted chapter 1, but posts will definitely slow down after this. I’m hoping for a chapter a week. If I complete chapters early; I’ll definitely post as soon as they are finished! 
> 
> I lied about referencing GOT dialogue in my last beginning notes. I hadn’t realized I was using/referencing more dialogue from the show. Credit to GOT, D&D, etc.

“Wait!” His voice rings out desperately.

Arya forces her feet still, despite her mind telling her to run. She turns to look at him impassively, “I need to go; I am sorry, truly I am.”

“Jus-Just wait. I’m a bit drunk right now, and I just became a lord, and I’m really panicking—I feel like I’ve said something daft and fucked it up.” He scratches at his head, and she rolls her eyes.

“So you didn’t mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Asking me to marry you, stupid!”

“Is that what I just did?”

“ _Gendry_!” She marches back to him and pushes him roughly. He staggers back, falling on the grain sacks behind him. He starts laughing, and it is loud and annoying, and she wants to _kill him_. “Stop laughing at me!”

He sobers and stands unsteadily, “What?! I’m not—I am not laughing at you.”

“Did you mean it or not?!”

He gets closer to her, “Of course I want you to marry me Arya.”

She glares at him, “You _are_ fucking it up!”

“Why does being my wife sound so bad to you?!”

“It’s not—it’s not that—I am not a lady! I don’t know why I have to keep repeating myself to you! I won’t stitch your clothes or push out tons of babies like a broodmare! I won’t sigh and prim for you and your bannerman like some stodgy woman who _pretends_ that she doesn’t have opinions or a brain at all!”

“Is that what your sister does?”

“ _How dare you_ —” She pushes at him again.

He pulls her hands away from his chest, “I’m just asking! Because what I’ve seen of Lady Stark, she doesn’t do any of those things…other than the stitching! And if I’m being honest, her work is impeccable. She did a nice doublet for Jon; the direwolves on it were quite impressive.”

Arya shakes her head of _his_ wayward thoughts, as they filter through her mind and distract her. “Sansa works hard. She runs Winterfell well; she is good at politics and making friends, and rallying our people together. She is what a lady should be; I could never do that.”

“B-but haven’t you already done that before?”

“ _What_?”

“You’ve always been good at making friends. How easy was it for you to convince me and Hot Pie to do what you wanted when we were kids? You even convinced Tywin Lannister of a thing or two—I remember you telling me that. As far as politics go—who is really great at it? Wars have been going on forever, no one ever agrees on anything!”

She feels her control slipping, and it frightens her. “It’s not that simple!”

“I don’t understand Arya. I really don’t.” He looks at her pleadingly.

She slides her hands up his chest, grasping the sides of his face. His look turns into one of longing, and Arya’s heart quickens as she sucks in a breath, “So what if I can do those things—I want to travel the world. I want to see what’s west of Westeros.”

“It’s probably just more people with the same problems.” Gendry speaks stubbornly, and she laughs at him softly. “Arya, I love you, and I don’t want to do this without you. Please don’t make me.”

“And I don’t want you to make me someone I’m not.” She says it desperately, and he pulls her closer.

“Do you really think I would do that to you?” Arya knows he wouldn’t, so she shakes her head. “If you don’t want to be a lady, then I’ll give up being a lord. I’ll follow you wherever you go. I mean it.”

“You have a name now. I couldn’t take that away from you if that’s really what you want.”

“ _I want you more, Arya_. If you leave without me; I’ll turn it down anyway. I’ll stay here working for Lady Stark, and I’ll wait until you decide to come home.”

“ _Gendry please_ —” She touches her forehead to his, and his arms wrap around her a little tighter.

“We can marry, and I can be a lord, and you’ll be my lady, but we can do whatever we want—or I can turn down my lordship, and I’ll follow you wherever you go, and if you ever decide you want to marry a bastard we’ll tell everyone to fuck off about it—or if you want to do this alone, you can go without me, and I’ll wait for you here, until you come home…to me.”

She pulls away from him, “ _I don’t want to be alone_.”

“Good—I don’t either.”

Arya lets him pick her up and carry her to the grain sacks as she kisses him urgently. She feels the tension leave his body as it covers hers.

 

***

  
“ _You’ve already told them_?!” She gasps a breath, as if in pain, and rips herself away from him.

Jon tries to clear his mind of his drunken stupor. His guilt rises at the utter desolation on his lover’s face, and he stands from his position on his knees. He tries to lock her in his grip, attempts to stave off the emotional agony she obviously feels. She dodges his attempt to hold her, shoving him away.

“Arya and Sansa are my sisters. _They deserved to know_.” He says it fervently, however gentle.

“You betrayed me!” Dany’s palms flatten against his chest, and she pushes him. He sighs and moves away from her in frustration. She turns to grab the first thing she finds. A burning lantern is hurled at his head.

He narrowly ducks, and it shatters against the wall behind him. “That was still lit!” He yells at her indignantly. Jon keeps his distance and speaks angrily. “I didn’t betray you Dany! This is my truth, _not yours_. It is my secret to share or not share!” He watches her face turn from pain to anger.

She speaks between gritted teeth, “Sansa will see you to the throne now; she will put you there herself!”

“I don’t want it Dany, and you give my sister too much power!” He says it laughingly. She starts crying in deep gasps, and he realizes laughing at her probably wasn’t the right thing to do.

She runs to push at him again, “ _You know nothing Jon Snow_!” Jon backs away from her in shock. An image of Ygritte flashes through his mind, and a pain seizes his chest. He knows it must show on his face because he sees the moment Dany’s mind clears. Her sobs stop abruptly, and she steps towards him. “Jon? Jon, what is it?”

A sharp knock sounds on the door of their rooms, and he moves to open it, too upset to look at his lover’s face. He groans inwardly as his sister stands tall in the doorway, her hands behind her back, a brow arched as she takes in the scene before her.

“A lovers quarrel?” Sansa says it smugly, and Jon closes his eyes at her ill timed teasing.

“It is very late Sansa. You should be in bed.” His sister laughs at him.

“Alas brother, I wish I could be, but the Lady of Winterfell’s duties are endless. I was called back to the Great Hall; your wildling friend, Tormund, is determined to wreak havoc until morning. He is trying to start a drunken brawl with a few Northmen. They’ve insulted him and complained about his stealing away all of the pretty serving wenches…or something or other. Tormund has blamed it on Pod, but I can’t seem to find him…or Ser Brienne for that matter.” Sansa frowns worriedly, and he runs a tired hand across his face at his sister’s story. “Whatever the truth is, there is hardly a sober person there; it’ll turn into a blood bath if it isn’t stopped beforehand, so you are needed…immediately.” Jon groans. _Let it not be said that Wildlings and Northmen aren’t united in their love of a good fight._ Jon is tempted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Instead, he nods and turns to Dany. Her face is composed, but her eyes are red and puffy. There is a tense air between the three of them, and he sighs.

“I will be back in a moment.” Dany only stares after him. He motions for Sansa to move ahead of him, but she remains.

“Since I am here, I would like to speak to your grace, if you don’t mind?” Sansa was not asking him, her face settled on Dany, but he was determined to answer for his lover.

“The queen is tired. You can speak to her in the morning.”

“Is this true your grace? You cannot spare a moment?”

“ _Sansa_ —”

“Of course, Lady Stark—I have a moment to spare.” Dany’s voice is full of warning, and Jon knows he cannot convince either one of them to leave it be, for once.

“Fantastic.” Sansa looks at him pointedly, and Jon looks between the two women before huffing angrily and marching away.

 

***

  
“Jon has surprised me since we’ve reunited. He was never argumentative as a boy. He was always so quiet, melancholy. Unless, he was causing trouble with our brother, Robb, and Theon. They were good at riling him up...” Sansa swallows the bile in her throat as she speaks about the two lost men.

“Jon always argues with me.” Daenerys says it with such bitter conviction that Sansa laughs.

“Yes. Me too. It is like arguing with a wall. _The Wall_ —supposing he learned it there.” Sansa chuckles at her own bad jest. She looks at the Dragon Queen, and the beautiful woman looks so forlorn, that Sansa’s guilt consumes her.

“What is it that you want, Lady Stark?”

Sansa takes a deep breath, “I wished to continue the conversation we were having the day of the Long Night. Gods, that conversation seems so long ago.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it.” Daenerys walks closer to the hearth, looking at the fire longingly. Sansa took notice and wondered where her thoughts lied.

“Your grace, I was genuine when I said I should have thanked you when you brought your army here to help defend my people. Instead, I have outwardly showed my distaste for you and your leadership. I’ve done it in front of my people and yours. Because of this, my people distrust you. Your people feel unwelcome…as do you.” Sansa sees the realization in Daenerys eyes as the Dragon Queen glares at her. “It was both subtle…and not so subtle. I’ve been doing it since the moment you rode through Winterfell’s gates. Jon trusts me implicitly, so my meddling only makes him frustrated and confused. But you? You feel—Hopeless. Powerless. Suspicious. Angry. _Alone_.”

Daenerys eyes widen, “You’ve done this to isolate me from your people…because you want the North! Now, that you’ve learned of Jon’s parentage you want him on the Iron Throne, don’t you?!”

“Your grace, if there is a single thing in this world that I want you to believe about me, it is this—I stopped giving a shit about that crown the moment my father was beheaded because of it.”

Daenerys sniffs distastefully, “What of Jon?”

“He is my brother; I don’t care who his father was. My father… _our father_ …raised him. He has Stark blood, and our men have never done well in the South. I would see my brother saved from death, tragedy and heartache, at any cost. The two of you vying for the throne is a fight he needs not to endure. Never mind the fact that he would never want the bloody thing anyway.”

“How do I know that you are not lying to me?!”

“You are being paranoid.”

“You’ve made me this way! You and your people! I feel like I am going _mad_!” Daenerys begins pacing, and Sansa watches her in sympathy.

“I’ve said this before— _Jon loves you_. He is determined to see you on that throne because it is what you want.”

“It belongs to me!” Sansa raises a brow; Daenerys notices her look, and the queen grinds her teeth together before speaking again. “You will not stand in my way?” Sansa listens to the desperate hopefulness in Daenerys’s voice, and she prays that she is making the right decision.

“I couldn’t if I tried, your grace. _You have dragons_.” It is quiet for a long time, and Sansa is unsure if she has said the wrong thing.

Daenerys looks at her with confused frustration, “You fear me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“ _Do you fear me_?”

Sansa looks at her wildly, “Should I?”

Daenerys looks away from her, “Do you know what I envy most about you, Lady Stark?”

“I was not aware that you envied me at all—”

“—I envy the power that _you_ have.”

Sansa cocks her head in bemusement, “Your grace, I don’t—”

“Your power, lies in the love that those around you, bear for you. They would do anything for you! First, there are your siblings, then Brienne of Tarth. Then you have Tyrion, Lord Yohn Royce and the men of the Vale, and most important, the entirety of the North!” Sansa sighs at the anger in Daenerys’s voice as the woman turns back to glare at her. “The moment I knew that I was envious of you was when Theon Greyjoy traveled across all of Westeros, not for me, his sister’s ally, but for you, the Lady of Winterfell.”

“You do have love, your grace.”

“Yes, yes I know Jon loves me, but he is one man—”

“ _A powerful man_ , and your people love you—”

Daenerys shakes her head, “I have loyal soldiers who would die for me. I conquered the Dothraki, killing their Khals. I freed the unsullied from their chains. All of them are loyal, but I cannot say _for certain_ that they love me. I have Jon, my children and Missandei of Naath. Tell me, who has more power now, you or me?” Sansa watches her wearily. “I learned that _force_ , is what inspires and gains loyalty across the Narrow Sea. I am in Westeros now, and I am learning that force will not inspire and gain _love_. The Lady of Winterfell has love, and I, the rightful Queen of Westeros— _have fear_. I don’t want to sit on that throne because others fear me. _I am not my father—I am better than him_.”

“You underestimate yourself, your grace. You did not use force to make my brother, the King of the North, bend the knee to you. He did it for love, despite the scorn he’d receive from his people— _and my people know scorn_.” Daenerys huffs in frustration, but Sansa presses on. “Your grace, I will never be able to take back the suffering and isolation I have forced on you since arriving here, but I can correct it now. I can help you.”

“You want to help me?! How do I know you are not deceiving me?”

Sansa moves toward her cautiously, “ _I know how you feel_. When I was trapped in my cage at the Red Keep, I waited for my king brother to rescue me. I was tortured in various ways, near every day, for all of Robb’s victories—it was _maddening_ , being imprisoned there. Both Tyrion and Varys can tell you all about it if you ask them. They were both there, after all.”

“They did not help you?”

“Tyrion stopped one of my public beatings once, it ended permanently after we were wed. And Varys, well, no, I can’t say that he really did…” Sansa watches the queen’s eyes harden. “Once Tywin Lannister pawned and married me off to Tyrion for my name; it became the only reprieve, or so I thought. Marriage didn’t stop the Lannisters from playing their game.” Sansa smiles bitterly, “In the beginning, when I was first betrothed to Joffrey, I thought myself terribly in love with him. But he and his mother corrected that, hurting me until there was nothing left but pure fury, suspicion and hatred for all Lannisters. Cersei Lannister is cunning, vindictive and hateful— _I will see her dead_.”

“So you will only help me out of vengeance?”

Sansa can’t help but ask, “What if I say yes?”

“ _Then I will wait for the day that you choose that I am someone worth seeing dead_.”

“I could never hurt my brother like that, and you’ve never done anything to me. There is no dissension between you and me, Daenerys Targaryen.”

“I cannot believe that. Why act as you have been, in the first place?”

Sansa smirks, “I was concerned about the North, my home, my family, and the Night King—and you aren’t the only one who can be envious.”

Daenerys frowns, “ _You are envious of me_?”

“Seeing you ride atop a horse with twenty thousand soldiers at your back, a man beside you who gave you his kingdom out of love and two grown dragons—it paints a very intimidating figure. I was definitely envious.”

The queen smiles grimly, “Jon may have given me the North, but it is obvious that you are still the one in control…”

Sansa huffs a laugh, “ _I am not._ Jon gave it to you, so it is yours—”

The two of them watch each other in silence.

Daenerys sighs, “And yet, I still feel as if we are back to where we started.” She sees the queen move back to the hearth, her shoulders tense.

Sansa worries her bottom lip between her teeth before speaking, “I know what you did for the North during the Long Night. Those men out there boast about Jon’s victory, but those dragons belong to you. They are your children, and you brought them here to save us. Your people laid down their lives, unselfishly, for men and women who would sooner spit in their face. _I see you Daenerys Targaryen_. Yes, in a perfect world, the North would be independent, and my parents and lost siblings would still be here. I would have been married to Theon Greyjoy, ruling beside him in the Iron Islands. But this isn’t a perfect world—the North owes you more than they can ever repay; the North remembers. If they choose to forget your sacrifices— _I will make them remember_. I swear to you.”

Daenerys looks at her in shock, “ _You_ bend the knee to me?”

“If you want my pledge, I will give it to you—I know you are not Cersei Lannister; I know you love my brother, and I know you defended and helped save my people when you could have taken the Iron Throne and waited for the Night King’s army to reach you in King’s Landing. Yes, I bend the knee, and I will see you to your rightful place.”

Daenerys nods, a small smile gracing her lips, “Thank you, Sansa.” Sansa nods respectfully, “How will you help me?”

She looks the queen in her eyes, “You have no idea of the game those who only serve themselves will play, _to see you ruined._ It is the reason why I was able to make you feel as you do here in Winterfell. If you knew how to play, you would have realized what I was doing the moment you walked through our gates.”

“I know what you speak of. Tyrion has told me all about it. Why do you think I legitimized the Baratheon bastard?”

Sansa grimaces, “ _You have to learn how to play the game correctly; you cannot be a conqueror here Daenerys—you cannot just choose to do what you want, on a whim, without a second thought_.” Sansa moves closer to the queen, “You saw the men in the Great Hall celebrating a victory without a single thanks to you or your people. You know that they don’t care for you—that man happened to grab your attention as he was leaving, and you acted. You thought by giving him a name and lands, he will be grateful and dutiful to you—he may very well be. But now, by legitimizing him as a Baratheon, he has just as big a claim for the throne as you or Jon.” Sansa hears Daenerys’s sharp intake of breath as she staggers away from her. Sansa takes her arm and moves her to a chair, “The game requires patience, subtlety, ruthlessness, observation and scheming.” Sansa kneels at her queen’s feet. “You don’t know, but you must learn. I might push you to your limits, but in time, you will see that I only mean to see you succeed. I will teach you the ways of the game, better than Varys or Tyrion.”

The suspicion hadn’t completely left her queen’s eyes, but she did smile slyly, “I thought you trusted Tyrion?”

“I told you he was a good man. He is, but he is also a Lannister.”

“You don’t trust Tyrion.” Surprise colored her queen’s voice, and Sansa decided to speak truthfully.

“ _I don’t trust a lot of people_.”

Daenerys huffs a bitter laugh, “Tyrion has failed me, and I am uncertain of his place on my council after his misstep with Cersei’s army failing to come North. But after the things you’ve done, I won’t turn against him and accept your council without a second thought— _I guess it’s me playing this game you speak of._ ”

Sansa smirks, “I am not asking you to turn against Tyrion. You said it yourself, he is good, intelligent and ruthless. I am fond of my first husband, but if I rest on my laurels; _I am lost_. I won’t ever blindly trust him.”

Daenerys looks at her sadly, “And after what you’ve been doing to me, I don’t think I could ever blindly trust _you_.”

Sansa sighs, “I deserve that. But, I hope in time you will know that I am on your side. If you give me a chance, I can teach you what it is you’ll need to know, to correctly play the game. Again, I apologize for the unwarranted suffering I have caused you. I will make it right. I swear to you.” Sansa gets up and walks to the door. She turns back to see the vulnerability on her queen’s face, “Jon is my brother, and he loves you, unconditionally. Once he told us of his true parentage, he made sure we understood that you are his family just as much as me and my siblings are. We Starks are a pack, and I hope one day you’ll realize that we would be honored to consider you one of us now. Good night, _my queen_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something, something for the Gendrya fandom!
> 
> Dany and Jon are a couple in love, and they are having a spat! It’ll get better Jonerys lovers...I promise! 
> 
> Poor Dany—She is going a bit crazy, as any person would, if the people around them are purposely isolating them. Sansa can relate.
> 
> I hope this chapter didn’t feel like it was going around in circles, specifically in regards to Sansa and Daenerys’s dialogue. I just really wanted to put an emphasis on and unpack the conflict between them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s summer vacation, and I’m obsessed with my own story. I finished this chapter early. I hope you like it.
> 
> More references and dialogue taken from GOT. Credit to GOT, D&D, HBO, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did all of Dany’s men come from in the last episode? 
> 
> We were told that Unsullied were at 8,000 in season 2 (a lot of them had died before the Battle of Winterfell though—against the sons of harpy, etc), and I’m assuming Dothraki were equal or more (let’s say more). 10,000 strong, based on the BoW wiki page…
> 
> In this fic, I went ahead and gave her 20,000 (though it should have been less—just inferring numbers from previous seasons.) 
> 
> Where did all of the Northmen come from?
> 
> Last episode, Sansa mentioned during Tyrion’s trial that there were thousands of Northmen ready to defend Jon, and I was like…huh? BoW wiki said that the Northmen were at 10,000 during the battle which is really laughable to me. (Unless they were all of the men, women and children that were supposed to be trained. You could say that they were there, just off screen, but isn’t that boring?) Plus, season 6 was all about how those numbers in the North were non-existent for the Starks during the Battle of the Bastards (it was a whole ass storyline). The BotB wiki page says 2,400 men were with the Starks, half of them Wildlings, and we know a lot of them died during that battle. The relief of that battle were the men of the Vale via Yohn Royce and Littlefinger, but there were only 2,000 of them. It also says “near annihilation” of Bolton forces which was 6,000 (including Karstark and Umber forces—who later rejoined the Starks). 10,000 is such a huge number, so I don’t get where it could have came from, especially when quite a few Northern Vassals were missing from the BoW.
> 
> We know Cersei had 20,000 with the GC based off of S8E1…they insinuated that Ironborn via Euron were a part of that number, but I’m saying, NAH. Also, how many were in the Lannister army? You know…the ones that didn’t go with Euron to collect the GC and didn’t go North…hello…the whole conflict between Tyrion and Dany??? During the siege of Highgarden the Lannister and Tarly forces were at 10,000 (let’s say they lost roughly 2,000 to Dany’s Dragons…if that…because most of them bent the knee to Dany). Which—where were the Tarly forces during the Battle of Winterfell? Unless they all fucked off back home after Dany left, or they went back to Cersei…let’s say Cersei…for the DRAMA.
> 
> Am I forgetting or misremembering anything—please, someone correct me if I am—but it’ll be too late to change my whole story lol.
> 
> That being said, I’m putting final numbers to all of the manpower in this fic. It’s going to create a brand spankin’ new conflict, and it will provide clearer motives for Danaerys. 
> 
> D&D didn’t care to explore this, and it could have been such an interesting storyline. I hope I do it justice.
> 
> Still, it’s just me doing what I want…

Daenerys watched the council fill into the small room and took a deep breath. She refused to be vulnerable in front of them, but she felt adrift staring at faces she hardly knew.

She looks to Missandei and graces her with a soft smile. Missandei returns it, and Daenerys reaches over to give her hand a gentle squeeze. Daenerys looks to Grey Worm, and he gives her a reassuring nod, and she smiles a little wider. Her new commander of her Blood Riders, Viho, looks around at the council in distaste, and she sighs sadly. After Qhono’s death during the Long Night, Viho stepped forward to take his place, but she was not as familiar with the warrior as she was with Qhono. Regardless, she feels better with another one of her loyal men beside her.

She turns to watch Jon as he stands with his sisters and brother. He hadn’t returned to their rooms since their argument the night of the celebration feast, and she was already unused to sleeping without him…it had led to two nights of tossing and turning. He had also tried to avoid her during the days too. She knew she had upset him with the argument that they had, but she wasn’t willing to apologize. She wished she could forgive him for his parentage, for the love his people give him, for the love his family give him, but it was just… _so much._ They had shared a few brusque conversations about this council meeting, but he hadn’t spoken to her aside from that. He stood a distance away from her now—the war table in between them. He only glanced her way, his eyes tired.

Tyrion had entered the room on unsteady feet, likely hungover. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him after his mistake with Cersei. She was also not sure of his behavior towards her after she had made it clear that she wanted his brother punished for her father’s death. It was as if he feared her, and a hand frightened of their liege was not something to aspire to.

Varys looked at her the same way, but if she were honest, she wanted him to fear her. She wouldn’t ever trust the eunuch anyway.

Arya Stark catches her eye and smirks. Daenerys hadn’t even been introduced to the young woman yet, but she knew out of everyone in the room—she should fear her most.

Sansa bows her head respectfully, and Daenerys’s eyes narrow. The conversation she had had with the Lady of Winterfell had left her feeling vulnerable, and it was one more reason for Daenerys’s temperamental emotions.

She looks to see both Brienne of Tarth and Yohn Royce move beside Lady Stark. Daenerys was not stupid enough to believe that the two of them were anything but loyal to Sansa and Sansa only.

Ser Davos Seaworth moves in between Brienne and Sansa but shares a proud smile with Jon. Her lover gives him a genuine smile in return.

Daenerys realizes that she only truly trusts three people in the room, and they had came with her from across the Narrow Sea. _How could she feel reassured of her future in Westeros when she was surrounded by strangers and those she was not certain she could trust?_ She swallows thickly as she tries to tamper down her anger, fears and insecurities.

Varys begins to speak as the men pull pieces off the war table, and Daenerys forces herself to listen. “Courtesy of the Lannister army, Golden Company and Greyjoy fleet, we are distressingly, uneven, in immediate numbers, your grace.”

“Do we really know how many men Cersei has?”

“Last we were in Meereen, Khaleesi, it was rumored that the Golden Company had numbers exceeding twenty-thousand.” Grey Worm speaks quietly from beside her, and she closes her eyes.

“With most of the Ironborn forces with Euron, you can assume he has an upwards of ten-thousand.” Jon speaks gruffly.

“Ser Jaime has informed me that the Lannister army that survived the siege of Highgarden was last counted near eight-thousand.” Daenerys notes that Ser Brienne’s voice carries unsurely, despite her large stature.

“So, she has near forty-thousand men. What of our numbers?” Daenerys speaks desperately.

“After our battle against Ramsay Bolton, the North and Wildling numbers only reached over one thousand; we had two thousand join since then, but we lost half during the Long Night, so we are around one thousand and five hundred.” Sansa speaks evenly.

“Are the Wildlings going to fight for me?” Daenerys looks to Jon, disbelievingly.

He nods once. “Tormund has agreed; they will do it to repay you for your help and support against the Night King and his army. But, the Free Folk will never be kneelers.”

She grits her teeth before nodding in acceptance. She turns to Yohn Royce, “What of the Vale?”

“I marched two thousand men from the Eyrie for the same battle against Ramsay Bolton. After the Long Night, we are now at half as well.” His voice echoes, and her heart sinks.

“We lost too many Khaleesi; Unsullied are only at three-thousand now.” Grey Worm speaks evenly, but she knows he mourns, refusing to let his true emotions show.

“Kisha zhorre akat dalen ma mekken, Khaleesi.” Daenerys sucks in a breath as Viho speaks the last figure. The substantial losses exemplified in numbers.

“We were hardly over twenty thousand men before the Long Night! Now we are just at eight thousand!” Daenerys hears the anger in her own voice and does not attempt to hide it.

“Both Queen Yara and Princess Elia of Dorne have pledged their support.” Varys supplies hesitantly.

“How soon can they call on their bannerman?! We are battle ready and prepared to leave at dawn! Can they say the same?!”

“We might be pleasantly surprised, your grace.” Daenerys stares at Tyrion, and he grimaces.

She squeezes her fists together angrily as she looks at everyone. “We must act now. If we wait, we give Cersei time to turn others to her side, and she is still called Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. _We must rip her out, root and stem. My children will do it.”_

Tyrion sighs, “The goal is to avoid the burning of King’s Landing and its people. Three of us at this table were there when they went hungry and rioted against their king. It wasn’t even winter.” Tyrion speaks again, as if she were a simpleton, and she glares. He looks away, and she is desperate to smile at her ability to intimidate him.

“You expect me to take my crown with angered townspeople and only eight thousand trained men—against Cersei’s forty thousand?! Won’t that only cause a slaughtering of inexperienced townspeople in the way?!” Tyrion pinches the bridge of his nose as she yells at him, and she now _knows_ , he’s hungover.

“We will surround the city—cut off the Iron Fleet from ferrying in food, force Cersei’s men out of King’s Landing in retaliation because of the angered population; our forces will meet the Golden Company on the fields outside the gates. We don’t need to involve your children or those residing in King’s Landing.” Daenerys looks up to hold Jon’s earnest gaze.

“We will still be outnumbered fighting the Golden Company! Why aren’t any of you listening to me?!” Daenerys looks around angrily. “My children will take care of this problem without us losing manpower!”

“We cannot just resort to burning men because it’s easy, your grace.” Varys speaks measuredly.

“It wasn’t a problem during the Long Night!”

“Those weren’t men!” Yohn Royce speaks, blustered.

“They used to be—Wildlings and Northmen alike! Fire is quick, and it will get rid of my problem as it did during the Great War!” All of them stare at her worriedly, aside from Missandei, Grey Worm and Viho—each of them knowing from experience, the efficiency and practicality of her children.

“There are four options, your grace. You use your children to burn through King’s Landing and take the crown, leaving an entire city and its population in ruins, or you use the little manpower you have to try and draw out Cersei’s armies, and have your commanders lead your men through an uneven fight in the fields. The third would be to draw out Cersei’s armies and use your children to burn through them.” Lady Stark speaks bluntly.

“What is the fourth option?” Missandei asks curiously.

“The men are tired, injured and infirm. They are _not_ ready to leave at dawn. They need the time for rest and recuperation. It would be smarter if your grace allows them the time they need, and she can gather more forces through her allies. Our queen will gain the manpower for an even fight amongst the armies, and she won’t need to resort to using her children, and it will make King’s Landing less wary of the dragons.” Sansa looks at Missandei determinedly, and Daenerys looks between them. Missandei looks at Lady Stark with suspicion, and Daenerys wonders why.

She turns back to the Lady of Winterfell and speaks impatiently, “I have lost almost fifteen thousand men for _your_ war against the Night King. It is your turn to reciprocate, and you wish to postpone, _so your men may rest_?”

“My war? It was _our_ war, and the Northmen are _your men_ too, your grace.” Sansa says it challengingly.

Daenerys smiles unkindly, “Grey Worm, are the unsullied ready for battle?”

“Of course Khaleesi.”

“Viho, hash yer tat dothralat mra ha athvilajerar?” The new commander of her Dothraki Blood Riders smiles viciously before nodding.

“My warriors are ready. Lord Snow, are the Northmen ready?” Daenerys watches Jon turn from Sansa, a look of frustration on his face. He nods at Daenerys, and she smiles, grateful. She turns to look at the older man behind Sansa, “Lord Royce, do the men of the Vale need rest?”

The old man moves forward to whisper in Sansa’s ear, and Daenerys is insulted at his deferment to the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa shakes her head and whispers to the man. He looks at Daenerys with an angry scowl, “No your grace, we need no rest. The men of the Vale are ready.”

Daenerys glances around the room, and she sees the obvious disbelief at the outward collusion that the two had just shared. She grits her teeth, “It seems you are mistaken Lady Stark, the men are ready. It is settled; we will leave—”

“—forgive me, my queen, for overstepping. _My only concerns are for the crown and your men_.” Sansa says it with a sense of worry, and Daenerys feels the tension in the room reach a climax.

She breathes heavily and glares at Sansa for a long time and realizes that her underhanded behavior was on purpose. The silence is deafening, and Daenerys feels every Westerosi eye in the room looking at her warily…that is when Sansa raises a brow and smirks.

_She wants to see whether or not I will act hastily and punish her for her behavior._ Daenerys curses the fact that Sansa Stark has decided to play with her when she is this angry.

Daenerys swallows thickly, “No need to apologize Lady Stark, I know your concerns are far from baseless. You care very much for your people…ah, forgive me— _my people_. I am grateful for your wise council.”

“I do try, your grace.” Sansa’s voice was flooded with saccharine sweetness, and she curtsies demurely.

Daenerys almost rolls her eyes, “As a matter of fact Lady Stark, I think it best if I can rely on your council more often than not. You will accompany me to King’s Landing.”

“Is that a command, your grace?”

Daenerys forces a fake laugh from her throat, “Did it not sound pleasant enough?”

Sansa’s mouth drops open before smirking, “It was just fine your grace, and I can hardly refuse my queen—”

“Uh, forgive me your grace, Lady Stark, but that is not a part of our original plans. It was understood that Lady Stark would remain here with Ser Brienne and my brother, Ser Jaime. The North needs care and rebuilding.” Daenerys looks at Tyrion curiously as she hears the note of nervousness in his voice. He avoids looking her in her eyes, and she huffs impatiently. She looks around and finds Jon’s brother.

He smirks at her, and she directs her words to him, “Brandon Stark, were you not lord of this keep once?” The young man nods, and she can’t stop the genuine smile from gracing her face. “Then it is settled. There is no reason why Lady Stark cannot accompany me; Lord Brandon will take over in her absence. We leave at dawn.” Daenerys forces a tone of finality as she brings the council to an end. She walks out without a second glance, and she feels Missandei on her heels. She exhales several shaky breaths as she walks the dark hallways of Winterfell.

  
***

 

Daenerys had just entered her rooms after walking with Missandei through the ruined Glass Gardens of Winterfell. They spoke in hushed tones about plans for their travels, and she was walking to mentally prepare herself. She would have took Drogon for a ride, but she knew both of her children needed the rest after taking hits during battle.

They decided that Grey Worm, the Unsullied and her council would travel by fleet, and she by Drogon. But, Daenerys would have to speak with Jon, Yohn Royce, Viho and Tormund Giantsbane, so they could organize the command and march for the factoring forces.

She would also have to tell Lady Stark that they would have to ration out a very large portion of the North’s remaining provisions for the journey South. Daenerys knew that it was going to cause discord, one way or another—whether it was with Lady Stark or the bannermen or whoever else that wished to question her…

She was exhausted, frustrated, and she needed rest before heading to the Lady of Winterfell’s solar and figuring it all out.

“ _You have a temper_.” Daenerys startles at the feminine voice coming from the darkened corner of her rooms.

“Who is there?!” Arya Stark steps out of the shadows, and Daenerys grimaces. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long. I saw you walking through the Glass Gardens and thought to beat you here.” The girl shrugs easily.

Daenerys watches her warily. “Do you always hide in shadows, Lady Arya?”

Jon’s sister grimaces at the name, sitting at her fast table, propping up her feet. “Just Arya is fine. And no, I don’t always hide in shadows, but I am very good at it.”

Daenerys huffs an awkward laugh, and the young woman smirks. “Is there a reason you were hiding in the shadows of my rooms?”

The smirk falls from her face, and she looks apologetic. “Not really.” Daenerys slowly moves to sit across from her. “I’m sure that was a bit suspicious of me, but I just wanted to speak to you alone. Perhaps it would have been better to approach you in the light. Though, I am finding out, learned habits are not easy to break.”

“You’ve had to hide in shadows often then?”

“Oh yes.” She says it proudly, but Daenerys recognizes a hint of sadness in her large, round, eyes.

“I don’t know if I should congratulate your prowess or apologize for having to learn something like that.”

Arya smirks again, “You can do both.” Daenerys laughs earnestly, and the young woman removes her feet from the table, moving her chair closer to her. “You have a temper.”

Daenerys swallows the rest of her laughter, “Are you here to reprimand me?”

“Of course not. You did very well in the war council. Sansa enjoys bringing out the worst in people before she deconstructs their worth. You stood your ground, and you did not let her get the best of you.”

“I’m very aware that this is a game for her.”

Arya nods, “She plays it very well…”

“And you?”

“I enjoy games too, however, mine are played a bit differently.”

“Care to share?”

“No. I am undefeated and intend on it staying that way.”

Daenerys scoffs, “Is it a mistake to tell you that I am frightened of you?”

Arya laughs, “I won’t harm you Daenerys Targaryen.” Daenerys smirks as Arya moves even closer to her, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Is that why you are here?”

“Yes.”

“Then, sure.”

“What was it like when you first rode atop Drogon?”

Daenerys looks at her bemusedly, “You want to know about my children? Arya nods fervently, and Daenerys laughs again. “Why not ask Jon about Rhaegal?”

“Oh I will, but I’d like to know it from your prospective since they are yours. I’m sure you look at it much differently than he does. Plus, he’s never been good at telling stories.”

Daenerys smiles and nods in acceptance, “The first time I rode atop Drogon, I thought I was going to die. There were resentful slavers that decided to rise against my rule in Meereen. My council and I were surrounded in a fighting pit, and there was no way out. Drogon arrived and started burning my enemies.”

“He could tell the difference between your enemies and bystanders?”

“My children are very wise.”

Arya smiles widely, “My direwolf, Nymeria, is very wise too.”

“Is? I was not aware you had a direwolf.”

“She and her pack are somewhere here in the North. The last I saw her was when I was coming back home.” Daenerys smiles kindly. “So, Drogon saved you? How did it come to you riding him?”

“He was hurt by spears, and I wanted him out of the pit before my enemies killed him, so I climbed atop him and told him to fly.” Arya’s round eyes look at her in wonder, and Daenerys feels a sudden fondness for Jon’s youngest sister. She is beginning to understand why Jon had told her that Arya was his favorite, “It was...exhilarating, freeing, and I had never felt such relief.”

“Relief?”

Daenerys nods, “Relief for his safety. Relief for mine…and relief because I knew that…I was worthy.”

Arya nods jerkily, “You were the first dragon rider in over a hundred years. I cannot begin to imagine what you must have felt. I always loved hearing the stories of the Targaryens and their dragons when I was a little girl. My favorite Targaryen is Visenya Targaryen.”

“Visenya?”

“One of Aegon the Conqueror’s wives—do you not know your family history?”

“Some—but I wasn’t exposed to much being across the Narrow Sea.”

“Shame. _Most_ are great stories. I will find some of them in our library. I think you’d enjoy reading them.”

“Thank you, Arya.”

She smiles before looking at Daenerys seriously, “Why are you taking Sansa with you, South?”

Daenerys sighs, “As I told you, I am aware that this is a game to Sansa—I know she responded that way in the war council on purpose. You are right, I do have a temper, and I tend to respond recklessly when provoked—I must learn some control. I want her to help me, and she has offered to anyway. Besides, she knows King’s Landing and Cersei better than anyone, aside from Tyrion, Jaime Lannister and Varys.”

“I hope Cersei suffers.”

Daenerys laughs loudly, “That seems to be the consensus here.”

Arya eyes Daenerys measuredly, “Do you love my brother?”

Daenerys huffs at the quick change of thought from the young woman, “Is that really why you are here? Not to ask me about my dragons, but your brother and sister?”

Arya grins wolfishly, “I _did_ want to know about your children…” Daenerys watches her and hesitates to answer her question about Jon. Arya does not look angry as Daenerys stays silent, if anything, her face changes into one of understanding, “You do love him.” Daenerys nods, feeling a strong wave of sadness overwhelm her.

Arya smiles widely before rising abruptly, “Speaking of which, I should go. I have somewhere important to be.”

Daenerys looks at her curiously, “Will you be going South with us?”

“Of course, I’d like to see someone try and stop me.” Daenerys smirks. “I know you still have much to do, so I will let you rest now, my queen.”

She nods as Jon’s sister stealthily exits her rooms. She can’t shake the feeling of relief that she feels—like she had just passed some kind of test from the she-wolf. Daenerys smiles humorously before moving to fall across her bed, closing her eyes for a brief reprieve.

 

***

 

Daenerys watches patiently as the Lady of Winterfell rubs her temples in frustration, “You realize the pressure you are putting me under?”

“Yes, I do Lady Stark, but this is necessary. We have no provisions going South, and we have a sizable army that needs to be fed.”

“—You need to _wait_ …”

“No. Your job, Lady Stark, is to advise me—not tell me what to do. I have listened, and I have decided. We are going South. I will not wait any longer than I have already.” Sansa sighs and looks to her brother, Bran. Who insisted Daenerys called him as such—instead of Brandon. He was sat with them going over ledgers of Winterfell’s stores.

Bran speaks softly, “We lost so many during the Great War—we _do_ have enough food to ration out for the journey to King’s Landing, and we will have enough food for our people for the next four moons. Winter has gone—we can start the harvests soon. Meanwhile, I will write to our Vassals missing during the Long Night; I can also write to Uncle Edmure and cousin Robin…see what trades can be made. We also have plenty of dragon glass left—it turned out to be very forgeable; it may be worth considering as a new means of production and trading. With your permission, of course, your grace.”

Daenerys smiles widely, “Absolutely, that is a very wise idea, Bran. I do also intend on finding the means for helping the North once I take my crown. I didn’t abandon it when Jon asked for my help, and I won’t do it after, knowing the destruction it has been dealt.”

“Very well—” Sansa speaks tiredly, but kindly. Daenerys shares a timid smile with her. She does feel remorse for the stress she has caused the Lady of Winterfell… “I will call in the commanders and anyone else who is to take charge of the forces, so we can finish organizing everything.”

“Thank you, Lady Stark.” Sansa leaves the rooms, and she is left with her younger brother. He watches her shrewdly, and she wonders what he is looking for. “Do you want to question me like Arya did? I’m assuming you saw that?”

“I did.” He laughs freely, and she can’t help but smile at the boyish sound.

“You seem, _different_ , Bran.”

“I feel different—or, more like the old me.”

She nods, not really understanding what that meant, “What do you wish to know?”

He smirks, “What do you think will be the difference between your conquests across the Narrow Sea and your rule here in Westeros?”

“There won’t be a difference. I will be a great queen and make sure that my people are cared for, as I did there.”

He nods, “Okay—what is the difference in power across the Narrow Sea and Westeros?”

She furrows her brow, “I freed slaves from Astapor to Yunkai to Meereen; I gave them the power of choice. I rid them of their slavers.”

“And the Dothraki?”

“They recognize force as power. Whoever is strongest is who rules them—and I was the strongest.”

Bran nods at her again, “And Westeros?”

Daenerys watches him in confusion, and he returns her stare with patience, “…there are no slaves in Westeros and force…well force is…” She struggles to come up with the answer to his question.

“You told Sansa that force does not inspire love.” He says it quietly, and she nods. “It will not inspire _loyalty_ here, either. Yet, you expect both of those things from all of us in Westeros.” She huffs in anger. “Your father was murdered by one of his own Kingsguard, and he lost his crown to Robert Baratheon because he thought to silence those who he saw as a threat, with fire. Joffrey, his mother and grandfather thought that forcing Westeros to abide by Joffrey’s rule and silence those who questioned his paternity would work, with war. There was a rebellion, and we ended up with four more kings...”

Daenerys looks at him for a long time before sighing and closing her eyes in understanding. “I cannot _force_ anyone to abide by my rule.”

“Westeros is wary of your fire, but they shouldn’t be. The past has shown me that there is no difference between fire, a beheading, a sword through the gut or a hanging. They are meant to invoke suffering and end lives. What does matter, is the reasoning behind all of those things.”

“ _It is so easy_ —” Daenerys shakes her head in frustration.

“ _Be a dragon_.” Daenerys’s eyes widen at Bran’s recalling of Olenna Tyrell’s words. He smirks, “Being a dragon means showing Westeros the power you have, to take the things you want. But, what you shouldn’t do, is choose to be a dragon above all else. Show them your power, but also show them your kindness, show them your compassion and understanding. Prove to Westeros the kind of queen you have always been.”

Daenerys huffs a disbelieving laugh, “I—am overwhelmed by all of you Starks.”

Bran snorts, “My siblings and I have suffered and lost so much at the hands of _our_ enemies. You are exactly what we need, so I would like to not see you fail.”

She smiles widely, and he returns it as the doors to Sansa’s solar opens, and everyone starts trickling in…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that the Prince of Dorne is now Princess Elia of Dorne in my fic. We know that D&D love replacing female heirs with male heirs, and isn’t that disgusting, depressing AND boring?! The whole reason Ellaria was able to take Dorne was because she, Obara, Nymeria and Tyene murdered Doran and his heir, Trystane. There was ZERO mention of any other Martell heir, no Quentyn—or Arianne for that matter. Those who were mentioned were Oberyn’s eight daughters, specifically, Elia Sand—S4E5. So, now we have Princess Elia of Dorne, and even if I don’t end up writing it, please know that she has all of the love and protection (from me), just like her namesake should have had. It’s also a big fuck you to D&D for erasing Princess Elia Martell, Rhaenys and the real Aegon from the show after setting aside the marriage for Rhaegar and Lyanna and naming Jon, Aegon—like…what was going through their heads when they made that decision? 
> 
> The new commander of Dany’s Blood Riders was left nameless; I looked everywhere, he’s not even listed as a guest star on IMDB, even though he took part in the war council during this episode. I named him “Viho” because most Dothraki men have names ending in “o”. It means “Chief” in Cheyenne, Native-American.
> 
> Kisha zhorre akat dalen ma mekken, Khaleesi. = We have two thousand and five hundred, Khaleesi.
> 
> Viho, hash yer tat dothralat mra ha athvilajerar? = Viho, are you ready to ride out for war?
> 
> I love the Starks, and I love Daenerys. I hope this doesn’t come across as the Starks being these all seeing, all knowing entities (although Bran is technically that). They aren’t meant to tell Daenerys what to do, as if she isn’t capable of making her own decisions—because she is. I just want to develop the relationships amongst all of them. Daenerys will definitely shine more, on her own, soon!
> 
> Talk to me y’all!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly short but very fluffy Gendrya chapter.

“Would you please stop being so fidgety. You’re making _me_ nervous!”

“What if she reacts badly?”

“ _She won’t._ ”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do, you bullheaded boy!”

“Pardon m’lady, I’m a man now.”

“Fine, you bullheaded man—and I am no lady!”

He chuckles, “You will be soon.” Arya feels a blush rise on her cheeks, pulling him in and kissing him quickly.

She turns away and swiftly knocks on the doors to her father’s solar. _Sansa’s solar now._ Arya repeats that fact in her head for the umpteenth time since returning home. She listens as her tired sister bids her to enter. Sansa had been working tirelessly throughout the day preparing for their travels South, and Arya wonders if her sister would get any rest at all before they left.

They walk in, and Arya stops short. The solar was full of people—Jon, Queen Daenerys and her entire council, Ser Davos, Tormund Giantsbane, Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime, Podrik Payne and the Hound. They all turn to look at her as she hovers by the doors. Bran was sat by the hearth too, and he smirks at the both of them, _knowingly_.

“Arya, Lord Baratheon—I’m pleased to see you both. We have been assigning duties and there are a few things that have been planned for the two of you. It is fortunate because we were about to send someone to find you.” Daenerys speaks diplomatically, and Arya turns to see that a flush had risen on Gendry’s cheeks. _He was unaccustomed to his new title._

Arya turns back to smirk at Queen Daenerys, “Yes, well, we came to speak to my sister.”

“Oh, I don’t think any of us would wish to intrude on a private conversation, perhaps it can wait until after?” Arya smiles wider at their queen’s genialness. She seemed to be in a happier mood than she was earlier.

“This won’t stay private for long your grace, so I don’t think we mind sharing it amongst a few extra people. In fact, I’m pleased all of my family are here, it makes it easier than tracking down each one ourselves.” Arya hears Gendry choke on a cough and ignores him. Queen Daenerys nods at her, but Arya sees the confusion on her face.

“ _Oh, for fucks sake_ —” Everyone turns to look at the Hound as he growls at the both of them. Arya glares at him as he levels an annoyed look at her and Gendry.

Sansa speaks bemusedly, looking in between her and Gendry, “Arya, what is this about? I wasn’t even aware that the two of you knew each other...”

“Lord Baratheon supplied Lady Arya with an efficacious spear made of dragon glass. I saw her wield the weapon myself, during the Long Night—I’ll never forget seeing something like that again in my life.” Ser Davos speaks with awe.

Arya turns her smile on the older man, “Yes, there is that, but we’ve actually known each other for much longer—”

“Oh?” Ser Davos raises both brows, and Arya is tempted to laugh at his shocked confusion.

Gendry speaks up then, “We escaped King’s Landing together, all of those years ago. Arya, because of what happened to Lord Stark, and me, because Baratheon bastards were being hunted and executed. I didn’t know I was one at the time, but the man I was a smithing apprentice for knew.”

“You never told me about knowing Arya.” Jon speaks quietly.

Arya’s smile falls at the sadness in Gendry’s voice as he speaks again, “No, I didn’t; I’m sorry Jon, but I was ashamed. We had spent years traveling together, surviving together, and I was going to leave her, to join the Brotherhood without Banners. Before I knew it, the Brotherhood sold me off to the Melisandre and Stannis, and I never knew what happened to her. The last plans the Brotherhood had made were to ransom her off to King Robb, at the Twins. I had spent years thinking she had died there, until I was told that she hadn’t...”

“ _I was there_ , the night of the Red Wedding, but the Hound was with me, and he made sure I didn’t see anything, not really.” Arya nods respectfully to the man, but he just sneers. She rolls her eyes at his sourness, “Before I knew it, we had traveled to the Eyrie, and then Ser Brienne found us. After, I travelled alone to Braavos—but I digress—that’s a _long_ story, for another time.”

“Yes, I think I would very much like to hear the whole story.” Jon spoke with a frown.

“Okay then, what is it, that the both of you wish to share with us?” Sansa looks at them sadly.

“Well…Gendry has, erm—offered me a position, at Storm’s End, and I’ve accepted.” Arya looks around and makes eye contact with her little brother again. He hides his mouth behind a gloved hand, and she could tell that he was trying very hard not to laugh at them.

“A position—what, like master at arms?! If anything you’d be that here in Winterfell, Arya! There is no reason to move South!” Sansa speaks indignantly.

“Are you offering me Winterfell’s master at arms?!” Gendry scoffs, and Arya grimaces, glancing at him quickly, remembering that she had already agreed to be his wife. _It would be poor of her to change her mind now, especially because she actually loves him._

“I don’t think that is the position she means, Lady Stark.” Daenerys looks between them, shock written on her face. Arya smirks again and wonders if the queen had realized what she was about to tell them because of the conversation the two of them had shared, earlier in the day.

“What do you mean then, Arya?” Sansa asks curiously.

Arya looks away from the queen and huffs a laugh, feeling slightly nervous as she speaks to her sister quickly, “Well, Gendry has asked for my hand in marriage. I am to be the Lady of Storm’s End. We plan on marrying in the Godswoods…right now. You’re welcome to join us, or not, if the lot of you are too busy—” She sees the shock on Jon, Sansa and Ser Davos’s faces as they abruptly rise from their chairs. Arya nods at them, before turning on her heel. She hears Bran’s bark of laughter as she shoves Gendry towards the doors. He runs, wanting to leave even more than her.

“Stop! Stop right now! Arya! Arya Stark get back here! Jon! Jon, do something!” They both ignore Sansa’s fading screams.

They run through Winterfell; her hand in Gendry’s. They make it past guards and the household as they all watch on curiously. She hears her own laughter echoing through the halls of the keep as they try to make it outside before they are caught by those running after them.

Arya thinks briefly about running through the same halls, not long ago—except, it was away from the dead, and the horrors they wrought. She shakes the terrible memory away as she feels Gendry’s strong hand in hers, and she squeezes it more tightly as they make it to the courtyard and through to the Godswood.

Gendry slows, and she sees an ensconced circle of torches around the Heart Tree. There is no reminder of the Night King; the ice shards and heaviest snowfall having melted away within the time that had passed since then. She lets out a sigh of happiness. It was beautiful, and she truly felt the presence of the Old Gods—The God of Death no longer hanging over her head.

Her voice is a whisper, “Gendry, did you do this?”

Gendry looks at her and smiles warmly, “I did have some help.”

She notices then, Jon’s best friend Sam, and his lover, Gilly, as they waited in front of the tree. She smiles at them widely.

“Arya!” She turns to see Jon panting heavily as he marches towards them. “What the hells are you doing?!”

“ _I’m getting married Jon_.” Arya puts every bit of exasperation she feels into her voice, and she hears Gendry snort beside her.

“I—are you—how did—” Arya laughs as Jon stumbles through his thoughts.

She moves to hug him tightly, and Jon holds onto her desperately before pulling away. She looks up at her brother, “I want to marry him, and you cannot tell me no. If you do, I’m going to marry him anyway.”

Jon huffs a laugh as he looks past her, to Gendry; he watches him for a while before stepping away with a nod. Arya laughs happily and brushes a kiss to her brother’s cheek. He smiles at her, unshed tears in his eyes.

Sansa had made it outside, and she was moving towards them slowly. She was looking at the scene past them, her eyes haunted.

Arya walks to her, grasping both of her hands tightly, “I’m right here, Sansa.”

She pulls Sansa from her terrible memories, and her sister looks down at her in concern. “Are you sure you want to do this Arya? I didn’t think you ever wanted to be a lady?”

“Is that your only objection?”

“No, it is my first. You screamed about it enough when we were little girls.” Arya grins wolfishly. Sansa brushes the fallen wisps of hair from her bun, out of her face, and the action painfully reminds Arya of their mother. She closes her eyes briefly, wishing that their mother was there with their father and lost brothers.

Arya opens her eyes to stare at Sansa, “What is a lady anyway? I’ve watched you everyday since returning home. I know the hard work you do from dawn until night. I can do that too— _I can do that and still be me._ ”

“I know you can Arya; you would be great at it. But what of your travels? Don’t you still want to see the world?”

“We’ll do it together.” Arya turns to see Gendry smiling at them.

“I don’t want you to ever have any regrets. I don’t ever want to see you suffer—as I have.” Sansa’s voice is only a whisper, and Arya aches for the pain her sister has endured.

She brushes the tears from Sansa’s eyes, “I’ll never regret this, and he won’t ever hurt me.”

“ _I want you to kill him if he does_.” Arya barks out a laugh, and Sansa moves to hold her tightly.

Arya stays in her sister’s arms for a long time. She only pulls away to take Gendry’s hand. She looks at the adoration on his face, and she knows hers reflects his.

She turns to her brother, “Jon, will you stand in for father?” He nods and moves beside her. Gendry leaves her to walk closer to the Heart Tree.

Sansa gasps, “Your maiden cloak!”

“ _I don’t need one_.” Sansa looks at her blankly before understanding her meaning.

Her sister lets out an indignant murmur, closing her eyes and shaking her head in exasperation. Jon looks at them in confusion, but Arya isn’t going to be the one to tell him what she had just revealed to Sansa. She looks past her sister to see that the rest of their company had made it outside to see the wedding take place. Arya bows her head to Queen Daenerys respectfully, and the beautiful woman smiles kindly. Arya watches as Ser Jaime wheels Bran in front of the Heart Tree.

Arya remembers when Bran had waited there during the Long Night, watching as she defeated the Night King. He hadn’t smiled at her then, but he did now.

“Who comes to be wed before the Old Gods this night?” Bran’s voice carries across the Godswoods, and she breathes in deeply at the pleasant sound.

“Arya of House Stark, a warrior, defeater of the Night King, a savior of the Long Night and a woman grown. She comes seeking the blessing of the Old Gods.” Jon’s voice is thick with emotion, and she smiles widely at his change of traditional vows.

“Who gives her?” Bran asks evenly.

“Lord Jon Snow of House Stark, son of Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North and her brother.” Arya squeezes his arm gently as his voice changes, and he boasts his titles with confidence.

“Who comes to claim her?” They look to Gendry, and he frowns, baffled.

She huffs as Ser Davos whispers in his ear quickly. Gendry looks at her unsurely, “Erm—Gendry…of House Baratheon, a man, a lord and…a smith. I come seeking the blessing of the Old Gods?” Arya nods her approval, and she hears others chuckle at his sigh of relief.

Bran carries on, “Arya of House Stark, do you take this man?”

She doesn’t hesitate, “I take this man.” Jon outstretches their arms, and he places her hand in Gendry’s.

She uses her free hand to untie the cloak from his neck. It was the cloak he had used to cover her bare body when they had first made love. It was plain, made of a coarse brown wool and insulated with fur. It bares no sigil, and she thought that best. She will be expected to use the title Lady Baratheon, but she will always be a wolf first; she wasn’t ready to wear the stag…

Gendry pulls away to use both hands to wrap the cloak around her shoulders. She exhales as he watches her; he looks at her questioningly, making sure she was okay. She takes both of his hands and squeezes them tightly, sharing a soft smile with him. They both turn to look at Bran at the same time.

He smiles at them kindly, “The Gods are listening. Take a moment of supplication, and they will bless you both.” Arya kneels, and Gendry follows. She bows her head and closes her eyes tightly.

_Please, I ask that you bless my husband. Give him his happiness and his health. Let us both survive the coming war and give us guidance in our future at Storm’s End. Let me be the lady that Sansa is and let me still be me. If I bear any children, let them be happy and spare them from the pain and suffering their father and I have endured, and protect us, always…_

A howl of wind circles the Godswoods, and Arya looks up, meeting Bran’s eye. He nods, and she understands that the Gods were listening. Snow is kicked up around them, and she laughs as it catches in her hair and on her eyelashes. Arya turns to Gendry, and he is looking around in wonder.

Bran speaks softly, “Your union has been blessed.” They both rise slowly. “It is done, but you may both share a few words, if you’d like.”

Arya turns to smile at her husband, and she decides to speak first, “Gendry, there were many nights on the road together when I was frightened, but I knew that when I was with you, I was never alone. With each day that passed, we never knew if we would survive the night, and I know that you always chose to protect me first. I loved you then, as a little girl. I’m a woman now, and I love you still. You are my family, a part of my pack.” Gendry raises her hands to his mouth and softly kisses the calloused palm of both.

She sighs happily, and he speaks, “Arya, I am alive because of you. You said I always protected you, but you always did the same for me too, and I know you will, still. I was born a bastard, and yet, you loved me anyway. I never expected anything out of my life, but you made me want to. I swear that I’ll never try to change or force you to be someone you are not. Because who you are now, is who I love—and who you grow to be, I will love until my death...” Arya isn’t sure if he had more to say because she is jumping into his arms and kissing him.

Arya hears the loud cheers around them, but she continues to kiss her husband all along his face as he laughs quietly. She pulls away to look around them. She sees Bran laughing, and Jon watches them with a soft expression, his arm around Sansa as she cries happily.

“Can we go fucking drink now?!” Arya rolls her eyes at the sour tone of the Hound’s voice, but she notices that he smirks as he looks at them.

“Yes, you sour old shit. Let’s go fucking drink now!” Arya speaks loudly, and a trail of laughter follows her as she pulls Gendry behind her as they march back towards the keep.

 

  
***

 

Sansa had tried to convince her to sit at the high table with Gendry, so they could be given the full attention that a normal wedding would have created, but neither she or Gendry had wanted that.

Instead, Jon sat with the queen, Sansa and Bran. Jon had gave a quick speech announcing her marriage to Gendry to all of the North’s lords. Despite the initial surprise, all of them let out a loud ring of cheers for the new Lord and Lady of Storm’s End. Both her and Gendry moved through the hall accepting congratulations and well wishes as they drank amongst everyone.

“Lady Baratheon…” Arya blushed as the queen called her by her new name.

“ _Just Arya is fine…_ ” She tells the queen again.

The queen let out a laugh, “Yes, that’s right. Besides, I’m sure your new title will take you some time to get accustomed to if you can hardly stand being called _Lady Arya_.” Arya nods jerkily, and the queen let’s out another laugh. “Are you happy Arya?”

“Yes, your grace. I am very happy.”

“You definitely deserve it. You are the reason we are all still here after all.” Jon had been listening to their conversation, and Arya watched as he smiled at the two of them.

“So are you, your grace. Without the help of your people and your children, I wouldn’t have even had the opportunity to have done what I did.” The queen smiled widely. “I also need to thank you, for Gendry.”

“What do you mean?”

“For his title…you’ve done something for him that he didn’t think would ever happen. I mean, I would’ve married him without his name, but I know it would have been a hard road for the both of us if we would have done that. So, thank you.”

“You are welcome, Arya. Selfishly, I must admit that having a loyal liege lord in the Stormlands will be very beneficial for me. Plus, I had no way of knowing the two of you were in love.”

Arya laughs, “That is hardly selfish your grace, you are the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and Gendry is very loyal, so I would never expect anything less of him if I were you.”

The queen looks at her seriously, “That is very good to know Arya.”

She nods, pleased that she could reassure their queen, “As for he and I, well, I suppose fate has ways of making things possible.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” Arya smirks as the queen looks to Jon shyly as he is turned away speaking to their siblings.

Arya looks out around the Great Hall in Winterfell. Men and women trickling in and out, all of them celebrating something as merry as her wedding to Gendry.

Her husband looks at her from across the hall and smiles widely. She rolls her eyes, and he laughs at her. She was certain that they would not have this again, thinking they were going to die during the Long Night.

  
Above all, her pack, her family, is together again, and she feels content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me, or do you too, feel a strong sense of foreboding?
> 
> Shits about to get heavy guys.
> 
> Next chapter is extra long.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I’m nervous about this chapter.

She opened her eyes, her lids blinking rapidly as she tried to make sense of where she was. Her vision was too blurry and the light too bright. She groans at the throbbing coming from the back of her head, and she shuts her eyes again, to try and stave off the pain. The ringing in her ears is loud and pulsating.

Someone grasps onto her wrists weakly, and Sansa forces her eyes open again to see a blurry tangle of black curls bowed forward. It is only a moment before the person is wrenched away from her. Sansa’s eyes focus, and she sees the panic on Missandei of Naath’s face as she is held back by a man with a wild look in his eyes. Sansa struggles to her feet and tries to get closer to the frightened woman, but she is kicked down the moment she steps forward. She doesn’t cry out; she has suffered much worse than a kick to the back of her legs. She does try to crawl away from the person who had kicked her down though; she would rather not be struck again.

“Where are we?” Her voice is hoarse, and she realizes how sore her throat feels. It feels as if she had swallowed scalding water, and everything dawns on her quickly. She had swallowed a lot of water—sea water.

_She remembers hearing the pained screech of Rhaegal as a huge catapult loaded with large spears pierced through one of his wings. She watched in shock as he had flown away wildly; Drogon and Daenerys following after him…_

_The large ballistics had been turned toward Daenerys’s fleet after they had realized that they wouldn’t be able to reach either dragon again. She remembers the loud, splintering, sound of wood as the spears pierced through the ships, and she tried keeping her balance atop the deck of the ship as it began to capsize. She watched men overrunning what was left of the ships, killing Unsullied…_

  
_She decided that it would be safer to jump overboard. Sansa had just surfaced above water when she looked up and saw one of the smaller masts of the ship falling towards her. She ducked her head and threw her hands above her to soften the blow as it landed…_

Sansa’s memory falls away, and she looks behind her at the one who had kicked her down. He was a gigantic man covered in black steel armor. She only makes out part of his face: his eyes, an inhuman black color, were surrounded by bloated, purpled, skin. Sansa sighs in despair, realizing where she was.

“You don’t look too good, Ser Gregor.” Her voice is faint, and she hears laughter coming from the man holding Missandei. Sansa finds the sound grating.

“It is because I brought him back from the dead.” Sansa looks up to see the smug face of an old man covered in a black, maester-like, garb.

“Oh, that explains it.” _It did not._ “You’re new. What happened to Pycelle?”

“Dead. _By a few helping hands_.” His voice was soft, but eerily sinister, and Sansa could only assume why Cersei would work with the frightening old man.

“Good for you.” Pycelle was another man who had ignored and supplemented her suffering once upon a time.

The crazed man let out another string of laughter, “ _I think I like you, Sansa Stark._ You are nothing like the way our queen described you.”

Sansa eyes the man blandly, “Let her go—Cersei will only need me.”

“Come now Lady Stark, we both know that is not true. Missandei of Naath will be very useful to us.” The old man spoke, and Sansa arched a brow, taking in the information. They knew Daenerys’s handmaiden by name— _how curious._

“What is your name?” Sansa directs her question to the old man.

“Qyburn, my lady, I am hand of the queen.” He gestures to the other man, “That is Euron Greyjoy, the queen’s betrothed.” Sansa masks her surprise, nodding thoughtfully.

“Where is Cersei?”

“ _Our queen,_ will be here shortly.” Sansa notes the impatience in Qyburn’s voice. He didn’t like that Sansa refused to call Cersei anything but her name.

Sansa makes a show of sitting down daintily on the floor, to wait. The men watch her curiously, but eventually, Euron Greyjoy releases Missandei, and the woman walks unsteadily, to sit beside her. Sansa takes one of her hands and squeezes it between both of hers. Missandei looks at her, frightened, but Sansa smiles at her in reassurance. She knows Missandei isn’t very trusting of her, but she also knows that the woman needs comfort.

Qyburn was right, soon after Missandei sat next to her, Cersei walks in. Sansa observes the differences from the dreadful woman she remembers. Despite the short cropped hair, Cersei is still regal; she still has an air of superiority, and she still has the same sour look on her face—but her eyes—those were much different. They were haunted and baleful. Now, she wants you to know that she would sooner slit your throat than play games with you.

“ _Little dove_ , would you believe me if I told you that I’ve missed you?” Her voice was dripping with calculated glee.

“No, absolutely not.” Cersei’s hollow laugh rings out like bells.

“Let me look at you.” She stretches out a hand, and Sansa takes it, rising from the floor. “My my, you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman—and so much taller.” Cersei tips Sansa’s chin down brushing a brief kiss to each of her cheeks. Sansa doesn’t return the sentiment, watching her warily. “The two of you must be so tired.” Cersei looks down at Missandei as she speaks. “I am sorry it has to be this way.”

“No you’re not.” Sansa doesn’t bother keeping the frustration from her voice.

Cersei looks back at her with a smirk, “You’re right little dove; I’m not. You’ve chosen the wrong side, and I fully intend to punish you for it. In fact, I fully intend on punishing you for _much more_.”

“I had nothing to do with Joffrey’s murder.”

“Oh, I know. _I don’t care about that._ I am punishing you—because I want to, because I can.” Cersei’s hand falls sharply against Sansa’s cheek, and Sansa sucks in a breath. “We’ll leave you for now. We’ve more preparations to make. It seems you hit your head pretty hard, and you’ve been out for a while now, little dove. I’ve already received a raven from the imp and the dragon whore. They wish to treat with me—for your lives. I hope they have something good to trade for you both, otherwise…”

“If they are coming into the keep, I can have my men surround them. We’ll make sure they don’t leave.” Sansa turns at Euron Greyjoy’s words; his cocky grin even uglier than his laugh.

“No, my love. We’ll meet them on the ramparts, at the gates. Our archers and our scorpions will suffice.” Sansa watches Cersei and her men leave. She exhales shakily as the doors close, and she turns to see Missandei watching her, the fear on her features still prominent.

Sansa moves to kneel before Daenerys’s closest friend. “We must prepare ourselves.”

Missandei nods fervently, “Do you think she will listen to Khaleesi?”

“No. She will not. I’m sure it wasn’t our queen’s first choice, treating with Cersei. This is Tyrion’s doing—”

“ _He should’ve known better..._ ”

“Tyrion is determined to see the good in his sister when the only person she has ever served was herself. I once thought she’d do anything for her children, but they are all dead now.”

“Why would Tyrion do this more than once—after her failing to send men to fight in the North he should have known not to try and negotiate again—”

“Tyrion has always had a soft heart—it’ll be his downfall. I’m certain.”

“What if he is doing this on purpose?” Missandei sounded angry, and Sansa couldn’t help but agree with the suspicion—and yet.

_Bran would have mentioned it if Tyrion had been working with Cersei before the Great War._

Sansa shakes her head before sighing, “I don’t think that is it.”

Missandei watches her warily, “Fine. Something is going on, and I can’t be certain that it isn’t you doing all of this...”

“You think I have intentionally got us caught here?!” Sansa looks at the woman indignantly.

“Your _divided loyalties_ are suspicious.” Sansa sighs at Missandei’s reference to the conversation she had had with Tyrion in the Crypts during the Long Night.

“That is why you don’t like me, because of my conversation with Tyrion in the crypts…”

“Do you blame me?!” Missandei raises a brow, a look of hostility on her face.

Sansa shakes her head, “Trusting does not come easy for me Missandei, not anymore. Since Winterfell was returned to the Starks, I have only ever wanted my family, my home and my people safe. I used the arrival of our queen and her people in Winterfell as an opportunity to ensure that we stayed safe. I did that by outwardly questioning the queen and allowing my people to mistreat hers. I made a mistake, and I’m trying to rectify it. I’ve already apologized to our queen, and we both agreed that I would accompany her here. I am sorry for allowing my people to mistreat you. I am on our queen’s side Missandei—I swear it.” The woman nods, but she still looks at Sansa in distrust. Sansa wonders if that is how she looks at people that she is uncertain about. She sits in front of the woman in silence, and she remembers something Qyburn had said earlier that bothered her, “—Qyburn knew your name. They could have just taken me, but you are more than just a handmaiden. They know how close you are to our queen, that is why they have kidnapped you, and why they have said that you are useful to them.”

Missandei sighs, “They might’ve remembered me from our time here when we tried to get Cersei to send men North.”

“You introduced yourself?”

“Of course not, but I was sat with Khaleesi’s retinue.”

Sansa shakes her head, “Well, that still doesn’t answer how they knew your name.”

Missandei looks at her angrily, “I really think it might have been Tyrion, Lady Stark.”

“Or Varys…I-I don’t know. I wish I had more time to figure it out—Queen Daenerys could be in danger.”

“You make it sound as if we are going to die.”

“If Cersei gets her way, we will.”

Missandei murmurs wistfully, “I just wanted to go home, to Naath.”

“I wish I was still at Winterfell...” Sansa embraces the beautiful woman tightly. She hears Missandei’s broken sob, and she lets out one of her own. They hold onto each other while they both cry, but suddenly, a memory of Theon enters Sansa’s mind, and she pulls away abruptly. “Have you seen the ramparts at the front gates of King’s Landing?!”

Missandei looks at her woefully, “No…just the dragon pit. Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember how tall the ramparts at Winterfell are?”

“Yes.”

“They are near the same height as the ones here, and I’ve jumped from those ramparts before. Granted, there was a large snow bank, but I survived. I had a twisted ankle, but I lived.”

“You want to jump from the ramparts?! There is no snow to catch our fall!”

“Would you rather broken legs or be dead?! Missandei, I am not wrong about this. Cersei will show no mercy atop those ramparts. When we know—when she threatens our lives, we jump. Do you understand?” Missandei nods unsurely. “Stay out of the way of those scorpions and wait until someone gets us.” Sansa wouldn’t share that it was most likely only Missandei, that Cersei would attempt to kill…

Sansa was still useful to Cersei as long as Jon was still marching South. She would make sure Missandei jumped…if it was all she could do for Daenerys’s handmaiden.

“I am afraid.” Missandei spoke quietly.

“So am I, but we must be brave. We cannot let her kill us.”

 

***

 

Arya listens to Jon read the missive aloud for the second time; the parchment falls away from his hands, and he hangs his head. She refuses to show any emotion, standing still, aside from the pulling of her fingers behind her. They were shaking terribly, and she was trying to reign in her fears.

“I promised her. I swore I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again. I—” His voice fades out, and she’s tempted to go and comfort her brother.

Those around the war table wouldn’t look at either Jon or Arya. Each one uncomfortable about the news from the South. She listened as Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime whispered to one another angrily…

“I will take a portion of the army and continue our march South, Lord Snow. We can cut our time shorter if we march longer into the night. We will save Lady Stark, and I will personally escort her home. The Dragon Queen should have never ordered her to go South in the first place!” Yohn Royce’s boisterous voice boomed inside the small tent.

“No! She was supposed to be under my protection! Ser Jaime, Pod and I, will ride day _and_ night. Ser Jaime will speak to his sister, and he will demand Lady Stark and Missandei of Naath be released.” Arya makes note of the hesitancy in Ser Jamie’s eyes, and she glares at him. He sees her, and she scoffs. Ser Brienne looks at her in shock, not understanding that it was directed at Jaime Lannister.

Arya speaks earnestly, “The sentiment is appreciated Ser Brienne, but we all know Cersei will never agree to that. Her leverage is my sister and our queen’s closest companion. She won’t treat with anyone but my brother or Daenerys Targaryen. There will be no reasoning with her, and you cannot demand her to do anything. Both Tyrion and Jaime Lannister’s failure to ensure that she send Lannister men North for the Great War is proof enough of that.” Jaime Lannister looks at her as if she had grown a second head.

“Did none of you hear what Jon read?! Tyrion has already wrote to Cersei, and she has agreed to meet with both him and the queen for Lady Stark and Missandei’s release. She will have—”Arya knew her eyes flashed dangerously at her husband because he stopped speaking mid-sentence.

Arya released a deep breath, “I will go. It’ll be quick, and I can even spare Queen Daenerys from unleashing the men or her children on King’s Landing. We can put an end to the war before it even begins. I should have offered when plans were still being made in Winterfell. I apologize for wasting time and resources.”

“Arya, you are a skilled fighter; I will never deny that, not after what you did during the Long Night, but I don’t know what you expect to happen down there that will be any different to what Lord Royce, Ser Brienne or Tyrion have proposed.” Jon watched her with concern.

“Jon, I will go, and I will kill Cersei.”

“Arya, Cersei is protected by forty-thousand men. You don’t stand a chance.”

“She’ll have help.” The Hound barked from beside her, and Arya rolled her eyes.

“Aye, so every single one of you want to charge in there to rescue my sister and Missandei, and none of you expect that Cersei won’t just capture and hold each of you hostage either. Great plans, all around.”

“I, for one, do not want to go.” Every head turned to Tormund as he spoke loudly.

Arya bared her teeth at the Wildling before addressing Jon, “ _You have no idea what I am capable of._ ” A deathly silence answered her inside of the tent. Arya watched Jon cock his head challengingly, but she refused to be cowed by her brother.

“Enlighten me Arya. How do you propose killing Cersei, never mind getting past the Lannister army, the Greyjoy Fleet and the Golden Company?”

“I just need a face.” Arya sees the bemused looks of those around her, and she returns it with a scowl.

“A what?”

“ _I need a face—_ ”

“What does that mean?” Jon echoes the same question Sansa once asked her, and she’s tempted to tell him.

“It doesn’t matter. Just know that I can get it done.”

“No. You have a job here, Arya. You and Ser Brienne will commandeer the Northman through the Trident. I will take a few men to Dragonstone and see what else can be done.”

“I wasn’t asking your permission, Jon. I am going to King’s Landing.”

“I am your commander, and I am ordering you to do as I say.”

“I don’t give a shit; you are my brother first, and I am telling you that you are being an idiot!”

“Everyone out!” Arya kept eye contact with Jon, as he ordered everyone from the tent.

“I don’t think so little crow. I want to see the she-wolf plunge her dagger into your belly.” Tormund looked on with a huge grin as Arya caught him looking back and forth between the two of them.

Arya hears Jon sigh deeply as everyone stays rooted to their spots around the war table, “Tell me your plan then. If you go, I want to know that the same thing won’t happen to you that has happened to Sansa and Missandei.”

Arya looks at everyone around the table and sees their expectant faces. _They will judge me._ She swallows thickly. _Why do I care?_ Gendry looks at her encouragingly, and she worries about his reaction the most. _He is my husband. He loves me; he won’t judge me. He won’t._

She lets out a deep breath, “Before I came home to Westeros, to the North, I was in Braavos. I lived in the house of Black and White, and I trained with a man, named Jaqen H’agar. I learned the ways of the faceless men. I was one of them.” All of them looked at her in confusion except Daenerys’s Blood Rider, Viho.

He hissed audibly and took several steps away from his spot near her, “Maeji mae ver! Anha tikh vo hash lajat yer haji yer lajat mel!” The anger in his voice was enough that the tension in the tent rose.

“What did he say?” Ser Davos asked aloud, but no one could answer. Arya was ashamed that the warrior understood when they spoke, but none of them could reciprocate.

“What the bloody hell are you going on about, girl? What is a faceless man?”

She spoke slowly as she looked around, “I am an assassin. I kill you first, then I carve off your face. I wear it and take it as my own. I can become anyone. _I am no one_.”

It’s Ser Jaime who laughs, and she looks at him with a lethal glint in her eyes. “Be serious Lady Baratheon, killing people and stealing their faces—how would that even work?”

“You should shut your mouth, you fucking Southron cunt.” Ser Jaime steps towards Tormund, but Ser Brienne puts a hand to his chest. “Jon Snow has a direwolf follow him. Brandon Stark has visions. The Dragon Queen has real dragons and calls them her children. We just defeated the dead because the she-wolf killed the Night King with a Valyrian dagger. There is enough weird shit in this world, but you don’t believe she is capable of this?”

“ _Not if I can’t see it_.” Jaime Lannister grumbled.

Arya speaks quietly, “You have seen it Ser Jaime.”

“Pardon me?” He looks at her in annoyance.

Arya walks to him slowly, “I was at the feast the night you celebrated with Walder Frey after the siege of Riverrun. I took the face of a serving wench. I served you your food and your wine. I listened as Walder Frey boasted about what the Freys, the Lannisters and the Boltons did to my brother, his queen and unborn child—what they did to my mother—and the rest of the Northmen killed during the Red Wedding.” Jaime Lannister steps away from her in shock, but she only moves closer to him. “Luckily for you, you were never on my list, that is why you still live. _Walder Frey was on my list_. The next morning I killed his sons, Elmar and Lothar. I cut off their fingers and their toes, and I baked a pie. I served it to Walder Frey, then I slit his throat. I took his face, held another feast and then I poisoned, _every single Frey man_. I avenged my mother, my brother, my good sister, their babe and the North. My list is nearly complete. Your sister is the only one left—”

“You’re forgetting my brother and Ilyn Payne, girl.”

“ _Oh_ , that’s right.” She looks at the smirk on the Hound’s face. “What are we waiting for then?”

“—for you to end your fucking bedtime story.”

She grins wolfishly before walking around everyone to exit the tent. Sandor is the only one who walks beside her, but she knows several others will follow after them.

“Arya! Arya, stop!” Jon’s voice carries across the field as she moves towards her horse. He grasps her upper arm, and she wants to lob him to the ground. She doesn’t want the chance to look at the fear on his face.

He turns her around, and she grits her teeth. Gendry, Ser Davos and Tormund stand behind her brother, and she looks at all of them in anger. Jon’s look was worse than if he were scared; he looked… _disappointed_.

“Let me go!”

“How many?”

“What?!”

“How many have you done this to?!”

“…I’ve lost count.”

“Arya—this…what you can do. I won’t let you keep doing it.”

“You’re my brother, and I love you Jon, but you will never have a decision in anything I do!”

“This isn’t the same as an even fight on a battlefield, Arya. You’re _murdering_ people.”

“You don’t get to be disappointed in me Jon! I’ve done what I’ve had to do. The Freys _deserved_ it! Don’t you dare justify their lives when Robb, Talisa, their babe and my mother aren’t here because of them!”

“What of the others? Those that you’ve done this to, before the Freys?!”

“I was following orders! Haven’t you done the same?!” She watches as his face changes to understanding.

He takes a deep breath and nods, “Of course I have Arya, but it weighs on me just the same.”

“ _Well, I’m doing just fine._ ”

Jon’s releases her arm, “Gendry, what’ve you to say about this?” He asks her husband, and her eyes widen. She’s so close to beating her brother’s teeth in…

“You’ll be careful, yeah?” She nods at her husband once. “Okay, then.”

“The both of you are fucking disasters!” Jon yells in exasperation. He looks at her again before grunting, “The list you spoke of—what is it?”

“A list of everyone I meant to kill.”

“And? Who are they?”

Gendry starts to recite the list, “Ser Ilyn Payne, Meryn Trant, the Mountain, Joffrey, Cersei, Polliver, Rorge—”

“—Walder Frey, Tywin Lannister, The Red Woman, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr and the Hound.” The Hound lists the rest, even his own name, and Arya smirks.

Jon looks between the two of them awkwardly, “Do you still mean to kill _him_?”

“The wolf bitch has already left me for dead once. She had her chance to finish me off; it’s her fault I’m still alive.”

Arya smiles wider, “I’ll probably leave you for dead again—if the chance arises.” His head falls forward as he chuckles.

She sees the tension leave Jon’s shoulders, “That list, you didn’t do most of them that are dead now?”

“Polliver, Rorge, Meryn Trant and Walder Frey.”

“I don’t know a Polliver or a Rorge, but I’m sure you had good reason?”

“Yeah, she had good reason.” Gendry speaks for her.

Jon nods his head in acceptance, “Melisandre, Thoros and Beric—why? All three of them helped us, helped you—I’m guessing it was because of your husband?” She glances at Gendry standing behind Jon, and he is watching her with a smirk.

“I took them off—”

“I still don’t like this Arya.”

“I’ll kill Cersei, save Sansa and Missandei and put our queen on the throne. What don’t you like about it?”

“It is _dishonorable_.”

Arya laughs at her brother. “Jon, this isn’t about honor—but it sure as hells is about Cersei Lannister getting her due. She is most likely hurting our sister— _right now_. Sansa was used by Cersei, abused by Joffrey and his Kingsguard and sold off to Tyrion by Tywin Lannister. She escaped only to be sold off by Littlefinger, to Ramsay Bolton. He raped and beat and carved into Sansa’s skin every day and night. I killed Littlefinger for that. I’ll do the same to Cersei—if Joffrey and Tywin had lived, I would have done the same to them too.” Jon turns away from her, obviously contemplating her words.

She hears Gendry sigh as he moves in between them. He kisses her gently and looks into her eyes, “Arya, at some point, you will have to stop this. The things you can do—they’re frightening.” She backs away from her husband, and he shakes his head fervently. “I don’t mean that I’m frightened of you. I mean that it’s frightening because it’ll take its toll, and what will be left of you?”

“ _I am fine, Gendry_.”

“Death changes everyone Arya, especially for the ones who bring death, and it is never good. All of the death and destruction we’ve seen since we were children is proof enough, don’t you agree?” Arya turns away from her husband, and she closes her eyes.

She already understands what Gendry means. She knows how hard death has been on her. She knows she really doesn’t want to do this. It’s why she didn’t mention it when they were still in Winterfell. But, the thought of Sansa suffering makes it hard to see beyond what she needs to do to make sure her sister is safe.

“Listen to your husband, girl. You don’t want to end up like me.” She turns to the Hound as he speaks roughly. “I’ve wasted my life angry, vengeful and full of hatred. The moment I get my hands on my brother, it’s over for me. There won’t be any coming back, and that’ll be what my life has come to.”

Arya shakes her head at the man she has begrudgingly called a friend, “If I turn away from it, so can you.”

“I don’t want to, but you do.” He grasps the sides of her face and smiles grimly, “You have to walk away from it and live your life Arya because if you don’t, death will come for you, and you will lose everything.”

She closes her eyes tightly before wrapping her fingers around his wrists, nodding subtlety. “Okay—I won’t go to King’s Landing, not yet anyway. Thank you, _Sandor_.” He pulls away and squeezes her shoulders gently, and she smiles at him softly. She turns to the other men, and they all nod their approval. Gendry takes her hand, and she squeezes it tightly before looking to her brother, “Jon, Tyrion’s parlay will not save Sansa and Missandei.”

Her brother nods his head in defeat, “When Tyrion has failed, we will need to have a plan in place to get Sansa and Missandei ourselves and be ready to defeat Cersei. I need to get to Dragonstone; we should have news on the parlay by the time I arrive.”

“So we wait?! Jon, I hate this!” Arya yells at her brother, and she sees him rub a hand across his face.

“I know Arya; I hate it too!” She feels her lip quiver, and Gendry pulls her into him. “We need a plan, and I have an idea. I’m not sure the queen will like it...”

“Why not? If it works than it should be fine.”

“ _I’ll be making decisions without her approval_.” He looks at her pointedly.

Arya sighs, “If it saves Sansa and Missandei, and it puts her on the throne, then it won’t matter in the end. She will thank you for it.” Arya looks around and sees the men looking at her and Jon in confusion. She wonders if Jon would ever trust others to know the truth of his parentage.

He huffs tiredly, “Fine. Arya, you will go to Riverrun, take Tormund with you. Gendry, you and Ser Davos will go to Storm’s End.”

Arya laughs, understanding his order. “You want me to call on my uncle for more men?”

Jon nods, “Our queen needs them. The same goes for the Stormlands. Gendry needs to introduce himself to his bannermen anyway. I will write missives to Dorne and the Iron Islands as well. We can strike every side of King’s Landing, and Cersei will never expect it, and it will help put Daenerys on the throne. It could also cause a distraction, and we can save Sansa and Missandei safely.”

“Do you think the men will listen to me?” Her husband asks unsurely.

“I’m not sure how fond the lords of the Stormlands will be of Queen Daenerys.” Ser Davos speaks brusquely.

“That is why you go with Gendry, Ser Davos. They know you well. Tell them of what she did during the Long Night, of afterwards, when she graciously gave the last Baratheon his title, despite his father usurping her family’s crown.”

“Maybe don’t use the word usurp.” Arya speaks up quickly.

“Right. Don’t use usurp.” Jon grimaces.

“Will your uncle listen to you?” Tormund asks her.

“I-I don’t know. I was a babe the last time he saw me.”

“You must try Arya. I will provide you with a missive discussing everything.” Jon speaks desperately.

“I’ll do it brother, but I still don’t like that we are waiting so long to get to Sansa and Missandei.” Jon nods, understanding her worry.

“Take me with you to Dragonstone—Ser Brienne and her squire too. You can convince the Dragon Queen to let us go to King’s Landing on our own. My cunt of brother will be guarding Cersei. I can distract the both of them, and Brienne and Pod can find their way to the little bird and the Dragon Queen’s friend.” Arya hums in agreement at Sandor’s demand.

“Of course, that is a good idea.” Jon agrees easily, and she smirks at Sandor’s pleased grunt.

“What of the kingslayer?” Ser Davos asks quietly.

“Ser Jaime has already made his decision. Ser Brienne has spoken up for him, but it would be smart to keep an eye on him. He will go with us to Dragonstone.” Jon speaks evenly.

“This is a good plan Jon. Our queen will be pleased—you’ll see.” She grasps his arm tightly, to reassure him. He nods at her, and everyone except her and Gendry head back to the tent.

“What if the lords of the Stormlands don’t accept me?” Arya frowns at her husband’s worry.

She faces him and kisses him gently, “Never show your men your worry or fears. They will use it to their advantage.” She pulls at the collar of his cloak, straightening it. “Hold your head high, speak clearly and loudly. Show them that you are honorable, and do not even let them entertain the idea of swaying you from your stance on Queen Daenerys—you know better than anyone that she is what is right for Westeros. Tell them about our queen and what she has done for all of us.”

Gendry nods at her unsurely, “I wish you were coming with me.”

“You need to do this alone. You know me, I’d probably end up threatening them rather than reasoning with them—plus, I’d probably spend time insulting each of them to their face for siding with Renly or Stannis.”

“Is that what you plan on doing at Riverrun, insulting your uncle?”

“Of course, stupid.”

He laughs, and she kisses him, her lips lingering on his. It wasn’t their first goodbye, nor will it be their last, but she kisses him as if it were anyway…

 

***

  
Cersei had placed them in chains inside the Red Keep, and Sansa never wished a more painful death on anyone, if only for the horror, shame and humiliation on Missandei’s face. She and Missandei were forced to walk to the ramparts while the rest of them rode on horseback.

Sansa did not miss the heat of King’s Landing, and it still smelled of shit and piss as they walked through the streets. The men and woman shouted disdainfully at her and Missandei, throwing rotten food and spitting on them as they proved their allegiance to Cersei—as if she hadn’t burned through parts of the city with wildfire near a year ago. Sansa wasn’t surprised. They were most likely the same ones who cheered when her father’s head rolled on the Sept of Baelor, or the ones who attempted to rape her in the street during the riots…

Why Daenerys wanted to be queen here, Sansa had no idea.

They had made it onto the ramparts, and Sansa watched as Daenerys landed Drogon away from the scorpions. A small portion of Unsullied and her council were already waiting for her. Sansa bemoaned the lack of men, and her worry doubled. This parlay was going to end badly—she knew it.

Sansa saw that Rhaegal had flew in too, albeit unsteadily, hovering close to his sibling. She was pleased to see that the dragon had survived the scorpions. She let out a heavy breath as Qyburn walked towards Tyrion. They exchanged words that she couldn’t hear. It wasn’t until Tyrion moved around him to plead with Cersei that Sansa’s suspicions manifested again.

She listened carefully when Tyrion mentioned that Cersei was pregnant, and she was quick enough to look at Cersei to see her reaction. She revealed nothing, so Sansa turned around to Euron Greyjoy. The man looked down at Tyrion with a cocksure smile. _Cersei is with child? How would Tyrion know that?_ Sansa turns to see Missandei staring at her. She nods at Sansa, and she knows that Tyrion should be questioned about this…if they live.

Cersei moves past Sansa and grasps Missandei’s arm, “If you have any last words, now is the time.” Cersei steps away.

Euron Greyjoy locks Sansa in his arms, and the Mountain steps forward, unsheathing his sword…

Missandei’s eyes turn to horror as she continues to stare at her, “ _Sansa_ —”

She shakes her head wildly at Daenerys’s companion. Sansa speaks pleadingly, “ _It’s okay_ —”

Sansa looks behind Missandei and watches as the Mountain raises his sword. Missandei looks forward and swallows thickly—she runs the few steps ahead of her, and it’s only a breath before she disappears off of the platform…

Sansa laughs loudly as the Mountain’s sword slices at air. Euron releases her, and she turns in time to feel his heavy fist slam into her face. She gasps as she falls back, feeling the unmistakable breaking of bone, as Euron’s crazed face hovers above her. Everything moves in slow motion as she hears the screech of dragons, and she looks out dizzily, from the platform floor.

Sansa watches in time to see Grey Worm throw and imbed his spear into Qyburn’s chest…

“Dracarys!” Daenerys’s voice carries out over the sound of her children, and Sansa sees her and Varys being guarded by a few men.

Grey Worm and the rest of the Unsullied race toward the gates, to Missandei…

Sansa wonders how the dragons could possibly avoid burning her since they were flying unguided by their mother. She pulls herself up groggily and watches Lannister archers nock their arrows. They’re loosed determinedly, most hit their targets while the rest are glanced off the Unsullied’s shields. She looks left and right as more Lannister men scrabble to unload the scorpions.

They don’t get a chance as fire is unleashed on both ends of the ramparts…

She hisses as Euron pulls her by her hair, throwing her over his shoulder. He starts crawling down the ladder as the chaos continues above them. She looks down to see that the Mountain had already carried Cersei to the ground.

Sansa is thrown onto the dirt floor of King’s Landing, and the screams and smells of burning men overwhelm her from above. She can’t understand Cersei as she yells at all of them. Sansa looks up at the sky as she feels the Mountain’s heavy boot stomp into her chest, once, twice, and she blacks out after the third blow…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I don’t think anyone could have convinced Dany to NOT go South. My thoughts were that it would have been ooc for me to give her this sudden change of heart because the Starks were finally on her side. Despite them being on her side, she still has intense feelings of loss from Jorah, the Dothraki, Unsullied and even Viserion. She also still has residual feelings of isolation and loneliness too. She wants to continue aiming for what she thinks will make her happy. (And she’s not wrong in this! It’s going to be another setback though.) 
> 
> Arya should also still be allowed to fight her inner turmoil. It isn’t gone just because she married Gendry, you know? 
> 
> When I watched Missandei atop the ramparts in THAT episode, I was literally screaming “Jump!” If Sansa and Theon survived when they jumped from Winterfell’s ramparts, Missandei could have too.
> 
> I am also relying on grrm saying that it is near impossible to hit a dragon mid flight. Euron was lucky I gave him the one spear piercing Rhaegal’s wing. 
> 
> Oh Sansa, I wanted her to help Missandei survive because she knows it’s possible after doing it herself. It’s also going to put a dent in her helping Dany. Dany is going to have to learn how to play the game on her own... 
> 
> Some of you might think I’m awful for putting Sansa back into a position of being the victim...but if you think for one minute she’s going to be a victim, you haven’t been paying attention...she’s about to fuck up all of Cersei’s shit. 
> 
> Talk to me: questions, concerns, feels...all of it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little angst, a little fluff, and a BIG surprise that plays with the show, and it’s lack of continuity from S7 to S8.

”Khaleesi, a boat is approaching the shore. It’s Jon Snow.” Grey Worm’s steadying voice calls out to her, and Daenerys feels the heavy weight that has been resting on her chest, leave in a rush. She sighs in relief as Missandei watches her.

Her friend smirks, “Go. I feel fine today. You’ve been spoiling me with your attention and neglecting your duties. You must find time for rest, and you have work to do. Grey Worm will stay with me.” Daenerys nods, kissing Missandei’s forehead before turning to leave the room. “Khaleesi—” Daenerys sits back down beside Missandei. “Please, think about what I’ve told you about Tyrion. Sansa was not certain, but I had my suspicions. He isn’t to be trusted anymore. I don’t think he should be here for much longer.” Daenerys sighs, nodding at her friend and leaving her to rest.

She watches as the small boat touches the shore, and she notices that Jon is accompanied by his direwolf, Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime, Podrick Payne and Sandor Clegane. She frowns at this, and she wonders why he had chosen the pair of knights, the squire and the Hound to accompany him here.

Jon marches towards her determinedly, and she wants nothing more than to run into his arms. Instead, she stands rigid, pulling at her fingers in front of her. Ghost reaches her first, taking large lopes until he stands directly in front of her. He sniffs her before gently pushing his snout into her belly. She looks at the animal in bemusement; she had hardly had any interaction with him before, but she cautiously rubs a hand through his fur, careful of the healing injuries the poor direwolf attained during the Great War.

“Are you alright?” Daenerys keeps a hand in Ghost’s fur as she looks up at the concern and worry she hears in Jon’s deep Northern accent. It washes over her, and she shivers.

She shrugs, looking past him at those accompanying him. All of them watch on curiously, and she grimaces. Despite this, she reaches out her free hand and grasps at his doublet tightly. If he is surprised, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he grasps her hand tightly. Daenerys closes her eyes and sighs, wishing he could hold her, or she could kiss him openly.

Her frustration has her pulling her hand away abruptly, “Where are the men?”

He frowns, “Settled in the Trident. They will wait there until I return with more orders.”

“It is cold out here. We should go inside.”

He smirks, “This isn’t cold Dany, in fact, it’s a bit too warm.” She rolls her eyes and turns towards the keep.

Tyrion and Varys are walking towards them, and she glares at the pair. Her anger at the two of them still prominent. Now, Missandei has informed her about her and Sansa’s suspicions as to why Missandei was taken in the first place.

It could be one of several different things: First, one or both men have betrayed her. Second, Tyrion was not as ruthless as she had thought—he was still trying to see the good in his sister and may have even openly shared information about Daenerys. Third, Varys and his birds were worthless, not even realizing that there were Lannister spies hidden around their company to learn about her relationships with those closest to her—or like Tyrion with Cersei’s pregnancy, he does know, but has chosen not to share that information…

Whatever way, both advisors have been smart enough to avoid her since returning to Dragonstone. She’s been tempted to have Drogon burn the both of them and be done with it.

Tyrion does not acknowledge her, instead walking past her and embracing his brother earnestly. She glares at the two Lannisters before continuing her march into the keep. She feels Jon and Varys trailing her, and she walks her way into the war room.

“What news?” Jon is looking at her worriedly. The rest of their company trickles in, and she keeps her focus on her lover.

“Cersei parlayed with us atop the ramparts of King’s Landing, but she refused any negotiation. I have lost fifty-three more men.” Jon hangs his head, and she continues, “Cersei was going to have Missandei beheaded by the Mountain.”

Jon looks at her in shock, “What happened?!”

“Missandei jumped from the ramparts. Both of her legs are broken, but she is alive. She is resting now.”

“She is here?!” Daenerys nods at him once. “Sansa?!”

She shakes her head and looks down, “I am sorry Jon. I would have tried to save her if I could. By the time I was able to ride atop Drogon, she had disappeared from the ramparts. I would have had to find her by entering King’s Landing. I might’ve had to engage Cersei’s men and the city with fire because we only brought a hundred men with us—we had just lost several of them by Cersei’s archers. We were unprepared.” Daenerys looks down the war table and glares at her advisors, “My advisors were certain it would go differently.”

“Jon, I thought for certain that it would work. We thought it better than our queen burning through King’s Landing to get to them. I’m sorry about Sansa.” Tyrion speaks quietly, and she notes the genuine sorrow in his voice and all Daenerys feels is confusion.

She looks to her lover, but Jon isn’t looking at her when he finally looks up. He was scrubbing shaky hands across his face. Daenerys notices his tears, and she moves towards him before stopping herself. Everyone was watching the both of them, and she huffs in frustration.

“Your grace, _please_ let me go to King’s Landing. I will save Lady Stark from Cersei.” Daenerys hears Ser Brienne’s desperation and realizes that she is comforted by her devotion to Sansa.

She speaks earnestly to the knight, “Ser Brienne, you have my permission to go to King’s Landing. A new plan needs to be devised, but you should try to get to Lady Stark before we can; we don’t know what Cersei is doing to her. You must be careful.” The large woman nods at her jerkily.

“I’ve got my own plans for my cunt of a brother—I’m going with her.” Daenerys had not realized that the Hound was there, hidden in the darkest part of the war room. Daenerys looks at him silently before nodding her assent.

“I will be going too.” Daenerys looks at Jon in disbelief.

“You are the commander for the Northmen; they need you. You will stay until plans are finalized and then you will return to the Trident.”

“My sister—”

“—is strong and resilient. Ser Brienne will do her duty to your sister well, as she has done before.”

“I don’t care! Sansa is my sister, and she needs me!”

“I need you!” Daenerys doesn’t dare look around the room.

“Sansa is where she is because you refused to listen to her in the first place!”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Sansa advised you to wait and to allow the men rest and to gather more forces. You refused, and Rhaegal and Missandei nearly died. You’ve lost more soldiers, and my sister remains with our enemy. She shouldn’t have even been there in the first place, but you ordered her to accompany you when she should have stayed in Winterfell!”

“If I remember correctly, _you_ agreed with me to head South, Lord Snow; don’t you dare blame all of this on me! This is war and shit happens! Lady Stark _willingly_ came with me because she knew I needed her advice!” Daenerys points to Varys and Tyrion, “Gods know, my two fucking idiot advisors can’t even find their own pot to piss in! I don’t need your judgement, and I sure as hells don’t need you questioning my rule!” Jon glares at her angrily before stepping away from the table.

She ignores his anger and turns to Ser Brienne, “The sooner you are gone, the better for Lady Stark—”

“Permission to go with them, your grace.” Ser Jaime speaks determinedly.

She looks at the man and scoffs, “ _Absolutely not_ —I don’t trust that you won’t return to Cersei’s side the moment you get there.”

“I support your rule, Queen Daenerys. Cersei will always choose power over anything else. She has grown more violent in vying for it, and I’ve seen the repercussions. _Our children are dead_.” He speaks with hesitance, but Daenerys is transfixed by the honesty he does share. “She thinks she is justified, in having burned half of King’s Landing with wildfire. She would rather have saw every man, woman and child from the North to King’s Landing dead, during the Great War, rather than help you and Lord Snow by sending soldiers North. She also sent a sellsword to Winterfell to have Tyrion and I killed—”

“A sellsword tried to kill you?!” Daenerys looks at Tyrion in shock, and he shrugs, embarrassed. “When?!”

“He arrived the night after our celebration feast.”

“Why was I not made aware of this?!” Daenerys glares at her hand.

She sees Tyrion grimace before speaking, “Bronn, the sellsword, was easily swayed. We would call him a friend, if we didn’t know that he cared more about money than our wellbeing.”

“What if your sister had included _me_ in this order to kill you both?!” Tyrion opened his mouth, before closing it abruptly. “I should have been warned the moment you both survived!”

“Your grace, he would not have. We negotiated a truce.”

“Your incompetence in justly serving your queen is astounding! Pray tell, how were you able to avoid death—what was the fee for your survival?!”

Tyrion looked truly frightened, “ _I promised him land and titles_.”

“What land and titles?!”

“—Highgarden and Warden of the South.”

Daenerys raises both brows in indignant disbelief. She can’t even yell as she addresses the man’s stupidity, “You failed me when you promised that Cersei would send men North. You and Varys failed me when the both of you convinced me to agree to a parlay with her, even after the Greyjoy Fleet killed over five hundred Unsullied, and she took Missandei and Lady Stark. I listened to you both times because I am supposed to be able to rely on you as my hand and Varys as an advisor. _You also never mentioned Cersei’s pregnancy to me..._ ” Daenerys feels a shift in the room, and she looks to Ser Jaime. He had grown pale, and she scoffs realizing what that meant.

She turns to Tyrion as he looks at his brother with guilt. Daenerys glares at her hand as he turns back to her, “Your grace—”

“ _I am not finished_.” Tyrion swallows thickly but nods his acceptance. “The fact of the matter is, these failures weren’t even your firsts. I haven’t forgotten about my allies. We lost a portion of Yara Greyjoy’s forces, Olenna Tyrell and her forces, Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes after I heeded your advice. Now, I learn that you are negotiating Tyrell land and titles that are not yours to negotiate. You’ve done this to save the lives of you and your brother, and you never once thought to tell me that there was a threat lurking within the walls of Winterfell? _I should have you tried for treason._ ” Daenerys looks to Jon, and he looks at her in quiet acceptance. She hesitates, realizing that she could easily turn her feelings into something vindictive and hateful—if she continues this way she will certainly burn the men in front of her, deserving or not. She looks at Tyrion, “I want you to take off that pin on your doublet. _You are no longer my hand_.”

Tyrion looks at her sadly, “Your grace, _forgive me_.” He speaks urgently.

“I will not. In fact, I don’t think I want either of your council anymore because I find that I genuinely cannot trust either one of you. I don’t know if the decisions you are asking me to make are because you truly believe to see me succeed, or you truly want to see me fail.” She glances at Varys, and his eyes are wide with disbelief. “The both of you must leave Dragonstone. I can only prevent you from following Ser Brienne to King’s Landing by force, but I will not. _Consider it my mercy for the both of you_. If you dare betray me and return to Cersei’s side you will both be punished once I take my crown.” Tyrion pulls the pin from his doublet, the clatter of metal resonates against the war table, and he leaves quickly. Varys moves to follow him. “Lord Varys—” The man turns back, an air of guile in his countenance. “ _I won’t play your game_. If I find out that you’ve used your means, to try and turn any allies against me, you will not have a another chance—I will see you burned.” The man bows lowly before exiting the rooms. The war room is eerily silent, and she turns to the remaining Lannister, “What have you to say now, Ser Jaime?”

He looks at her angrily and bites out sarcastically, “Only that you’ve shown more restraint and kindness than my sister and father ever had.”

Daenerys smiles unkindly at his demeanor before looking at the woman beside him, “Ser Brienne, do you trust that Ser Jaime will help you in King’s Landing?”

She is silent for too long, and Daenerys raises her brows at the lady knight’s hesitance. The woman looks at Ser Jaime, and he bows his head shamefully. Daenerys looks between the two, and it dawns on her that there is more to their friendship. She grimaces at the pain she has inflicted on the woman.

Eventually Ser Brienne looks away from him and speaks up quietly, “I do.”

Ser Jaime’s head snaps to Ser Brienne’s face, but she only looks to her squire. Podrick Payne stood beside the Hound, his arms crossed and a menacing glare leveled at Jaime Lannister. Daenerys is baffled at the relationship between the three of them. None of them bother to look at Daenerys again, but she can’t find it in herself to pursue the issue any longer. She sighs and begrudgingly nods her acceptance. “Go. All of you.” Everyone leaves quickly, except Jon.

Daenerys looks between the two of them and sighs despairingly. She presses on, “We need a new plan.” Jon huffs a laugh before looking at her guiltily, and she is filled with sudden dread. “What?!”

“I’ve already started one.” She huffs in disbelief, but he continues, “Back in Winterfell, Varys mentioned allied forces in Queen Yara and Princess Elia. It was a good idea; I was just thinking on a larger scale.”

“How?”

“I sent Arya and Tormund to Riverrun, and I sent her husband and Ser Davos to Storm’s End. We have less than eight thousand men now. Arya will convince her Uncle Edmure to call on his bannerman. Gendry will introduce himself as the new liege lord of the Stormlands, and he and Ser Davos will try and regroup those who who were once loyal to either Renly or Stannis Baratheon—I also sent missives to Dorne and the Iron Islands…in your name, of course.”

Daenerys grits her teeth, “ _You made these decisions without consulting me_.” Ghost whines, pushing his snout into her belly again. Daenerys looks at the animal in confusion.

She looks to Jon and notices his confusion too, “It was the right thing to do.” He says absently, watching his direwolf.

She steps around Ghost, “Godsdamn your honor Jon Snow!” He looks at her in shock. “That is not for you to decide!”

“They can provide us close to twenty thousand men—maybe even more! Combine that with our remaining forces, Ironborn and Dornish forces, we might exceed Cersei’s army and make a statement on where loyalties truly lie. We will nearly have all of the Seven Kingdoms on our side!”

“We?! Us?! Our?! _I am the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms_ , Jon! You do not have the final say in these decisions!” She feels her anger crest.

Jon looks at her in exasperation, and she feels a wave of dizziness overcome her. She tries to keep her balance, Ghost following her as she staggers backwards. She barely hears the direwolf’s whining as he pushes his snout against her belly again. She grips both hands into his fur, as the animal attempts to help her.

“Dany!” She was certain Jon shouted her name, but it was muffled by the ringing in her ears.

She sees him rushing towards her as she loses consciousness.

 

  
***

 

She wakes up in her soft feather bed, and she turns to see her lover looking out of the large windows to her rooms. She feels a heavy warmth and looks down to see Ghost asleep across her body.

Daenerys giggles at the direwolf’s new attachment to her, and she looks up to see a fond look on Jon’s face as he turns to watch them.

“What happened?”

Jon grimaces, “You fainted.” She frowns at her lover worriedly. “The maester has been to visit, but he wanted to speak with you when you woke.”

She sighs, “Did he seem worried?”

“Not really. I was only to notify him when you finally rose.” Daenerys nods, and Jon leaves the rooms. She pulls herself up, and Ghost shuffles to allow her the space. She strokes his fur for a while, and she feels a kinship with the animal. Jon comes back into the rooms and sits on the bed, facing her. “He will be here shortly.” She leans into him; her nose buried in the crook of his neck. Daenerys hears his soft sigh as he wraps an arm around her tightly, the other rubbing her back gently. They stay like that for a long time; Daenerys basking in his comfort. “This is my fault.” Jon speaks quietly, and she pulls away to look at him in confusion. “The battle against the dead, this war for your throne—you’ve lost Jorah, most of the Dothraki and the Unsullied—Missandei and Rhaegal were hurt—Tyrion and Varys now—you haven’t mourned; you’re overtired, stressed, and I am not making anything easier for you.”

“I am just as responsible for this Jon.” Daenerys looks at him sadly, “The mistakes I’ve made—it wasn’t always like this for me. The throne was my brother, Viserys’s, dream before it was mine. After he was gone, at some point, it became what I wanted more than anything. My conquests across the Narrow Sea were for an army to bring me to Westeros. Before the Great War, during the Great War and now, after it. Everything I’ve done. Everything I’ve been reaching for. It’s always taken me there, the Iron Throne.”

He sighs, “The only thing the Iron Throne has brought my family was pain and suffering. Surprisingly enough, that includes the Targaryen side too.”

Daenerys huffs, understanding how truthful that statement has always been, “I should’ve listened to your sister and waited. She warned me about Tyrion and Varys, and I ignored that advice too. It seems she is often correct.”

“ _Please_ , don’t tell her that.” They both laugh before Jon looks away, the worry evident in his features.

“Sansa will be alright Jon, and Cersei will suffer for anything that happens to your sister. _I swear it_.” He nods, and she kisses his cheek quickly. “We should finish the discussion we were having before I fainted.”

“It was hardly a discussion. You were yelling at me for ordering Arya and Gendry to gather more forces for _you_.”

“For _us_ —” Daenerys sees his grimace and sighs.

“I wasn’t meaning it that way Dany.” He stands and moves across the rooms. “What do you want from me? I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I don’t want the Iron Throne—that I want no crown. _I just want you_. Still, you choose to fight with me. If you have no intention of accepting my help, my council, or seeing this relationship through, than I want to know now.”

“What will you do, if this ends now?” She rises from her bed to follow him.

He looks at her sadly, “I will still fight for you. I’ll see you to the throne, and then I will leave you, forever.”

“ _Forever_?” Daenerys hears the smallness of her voice.

“I do not think I can be around you but not be with you.”

“Where will you go? What will you do?”

“Go North. Where it’s colder. Perhaps, I’ll return to The Wall.”

“The Wall?! There is no wall, Jon—not anymore!”

“There is a partial part of it still standing…” She rolls her eyes, and he turns away from her. “Past the wall then—Tormund could use my help with the Wildlings.”

“You’re being petulant!”

He turns back to her, “What do you want from me then?!”

“I want _you_ , Jon! I don’t want you to leave me!” He stares at her, wide-eyed before rushing towards her, his lips crashing against hers, and the hilt of his long sword digging into her chest. “Ow, Jon!” She pushes him away roughly and runs a hand over her breast where the direwolf figure had stabbed her…

“ _Sorry_ —” His face reddens slightly, and she snorts a laugh.

“I love you Jon Snow, and I want you with me, _forever_.” She pulls him close to her, his arms wrapping around her.

“I love you Daenerys Targaryen.” He brushes his lips against hers.

She sighs into his kiss as it turns feverish. Eventually, she pulls away, “You will marry me then?”

“Yes.” He smiles at her gently.

“We have to discuss your name and your title.”

“You don’t want to marry a bastard?”

“You are a former king, a lord and the Warden of the North, despite the lack of a name, and I will marry you, _Jon Snow_ , if that is who you want to be— _even though we both know you are not_.”

He looks away from her, “I don’t feel like a Targaryen.”

“You ride a dragon Jon.”

“You are forgetting Ghost.”

“I could never!” She turns to the direwolf as he watches them, his head tilted curiously. “—so you want to be a Stark?”

“I am a Stark—by my mother, Lyanna, and the man who raised me, the only father I’ve known, Eddard Stark.”

“Okay, _Jon Stark_ —I will make you my husband and prince consort.”

Jon laughs, picking her up by the legs and walks her around the room. She is reminded of a time when her dead husband, Drogo, had done the same, and she smiles bittersweetly.

A soft knock breaks her reverie, and Jon puts her down before walking to the doors. He bids the maester’s entrance, and the older man smiles kindly.

“Maester, you’ve positive news—I hope?”

“None dire, your grace. You are feeling better?” Daenerys nods her assent. “I recommend you rest for a day or so, nothing too tiring for you. That includes dragon riding—”

She looks at the old man oddly, “Why not?”

“Your condition makes you quite fragile. You will have to stop all together, soon enough.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t anything dire?!”

“As of now it is not, but _pregnancy_ is different for every woman. It is best that we keep you from doing anything strenuous or stressful. I know as a queen it is near impossible, but we must try.” The man smiles at her gently.

She laughs drily, “Pregnant? There is no way.”

“I’ve been a maester for over thirty years, and I’ve never been wrong about a pregnancy, your grace. You are most definitely pregnant.”

She looks to Jon, and he is smiling widely. “Maester, if you could excuse us?” The man bows and leaves just as quick as he came.

“ _I told you_!” Jon speaks earnestly, and she sighs. Daenerys remembers the conversation that they once had, at the Dragon Pit in King’s Landing, and she feels a depressive hopelessness overcome her.

“Jon, I don’t want you to be unnecessarily happy. The maester is most likely wrong.”

“Dany, are you really going to believe some scorned witch over a practicing maester?”

“I-I don’t know what to believe…other than—if it were possible for me to be pregnant _again_ then it should have happened already, with another man I’ve lain with.” He frowns, and she sighs. The thought of giving him something as wonderful as a babe that is made up of both of them is a fantasy that she wishes were real…

She watches his frown turn to wonderment, “Explain Ghost and Rhaegal then—”

“What?”

“History has shown that the only ones who ride dragons are Targaryens. That is why I was able to ride Rhaegal—I have Targaryen blood. Direwolves only follow Starks, and you can’t seem to be rid of Ghost since we arrived here—you’ve got a Stark in your belly! That is the only explanation!” Daenerys shakes her head in disbelief, but she gasps once Ghost jumps from her bed to brush up against her, his snout buried in her belly again.

She rests her hands in his fur and speaks faintly, “Jon, I can’t hope for something as wonderful as this.”

He moves to her, “Be patient Dany, you’ll see I’m right.” She nods despite her incredulity. “I want to marry you right now.” Daenerys laughs at her lover and kisses him softly.

“We must wait, Jon. It has to be public, with approval from everyone, especially the Seven. It’ll be one of the first things we do after I take my crown. I swear it.”

Jon nods easily as he pulls her in close, “Can we wed at the Heart Tree in Winterfell too?”

She smiles and nods fervently, “I thought Arya’s wedding was so beautiful; I’d like that.” They rest their foreheads together and another knock sounds on her doors. She huffs, “I wonder if we’ll ever find a private moment to ourselves?”

He smirks, “I’m sure it isn’t likely anytime soon, Dany.” She pulls a face, and he laughs at her.

“Maester, did you forget something?” The old man had entered her rooms again, a parchment outstretched in his hand.

“My apologies your grace, but you received a missive by raven while you convened in the war room. I had forgotten about it until now. It is sealed with the Tully sigil.” Daenerys looks to Jon, and he rushes to grasp the small parchment from the maester. She nods her thanks at the old man, and he bows before exiting her rooms again.

Jon hands it to her, and she pulls at the seal and reads it aloud,

 

_Queen Daenerys Targaryen,_

_I have met with my niece, Lady Arya Baratheon. She has told me everything, and I applaud your bravery and prowess as a leader and queen during the Great War. I realize that you now vie for the Iron Throne. I must admit, supporting my nephew, King Robb, during the War of the Five Kings bled the Riverlands of great men. I do not express regret for having supported an honorable cause, just that I can only provide as much men as I have available. I have called on my bannerman, and we have all agreed to meet your men at the Trident, post haste. I am accompanied by eleven-thousand soldiers, and we are graciously at your disposal._

_Long live Daenerys Targaryen, the Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms._

_Your faithful Warden of the Trident,_

_Lord Edmure Tully of Riverrun_

 

“Now we just wait for Gendry and Ser Davos. They’ll come through; I know it.” Jon speaks to her gently.

She now had the North, the Vale, Dorne, the Iron Islands and the Riverlands backing her claim. She accepted the Reach by default. Exultation blossoms in her chest, and she is overwhelmed with emotion. Daenerys lets out a sob, and Jon embraces her tightly as she cries…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo boy, I finished this in a fever yesterday and today. A few readers seem to be under the impression that I’m anti-Dany, and I had to go back and see if I’m really writing her that badly—it’s made me a bit self-conscious. I’m signing off for a little while to decompress a bit. Don’t give up on me though! Besides, all 6 of these chapters were half written or near finished...all I have left are a lot of ideas and blank WORD docs. 
> 
> I’m also trying a hand at writing from Brienne’s POV, which is a bit intimidating for me. Wish me luck! 
> 
> I played with a conversation that Jon once had with Dolorous Edd, did anyone catch that?! I made Jon look silly for wanting to go back North when he had ambitions of going South to “get warm” after leaving the Night’s Watch.
> 
> I also played with Jon and Dany’s last scene together. I made it into a joke instead...just because. 
> 
> I made Edmure Tully less of a joke too—that man spent a long time imprisoned by Freys/Lannisters. His last convo with Jaime Lannister definitely showed me his priorities were different. 
> 
> Also, I couldn’t think of a name for the Maester that didn’t sound tacky—any suggestions?


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you intend on spending the entire boat ride refusing to speak to me? It’s incredibly cramped, and we’ve a long way to go.” Brienne heard the smugness in his voice as they marched towards the shore, the boat they used to reach Dragonstone, waiting where they had left it. She ignored him because she didn’t want to indulge Jaime Lannister with her anger. He’d most likely make a jest out of it…

“ _Leave her be._ ” Brienne smiles at Pod’s hostile tone.

“Oh, you’re angry with me too?!” Jaime spoke disbelievingly to her squire.

“Will you shut the fuck up? What we’re not going to do is spend this entire fucking boat ride talking about the fact that you can’t stop sticking your cock in your sister.” The Hound presses his chest into Jaime’s as he speaks—his unpleasant and direct words have her lover gritting his teeth, and Brienne wants to laugh to save from making an embarrassment of herself and crying.

“Do you have room for two more?” Tyrion spoke quietly, and Brienne sighs deeply, wanting nothing more than to refuse them. She looks to Pod, and he looks at her pleadingly. Podrick has always had a soft spot for Tyrion Lannister.

She turns back to the smaller Lannister nodding at him once, and she sees the relief in Tyrion’s eyes. Varys has a look of impassivity as he stares at all of them, and Brienne wonders how the man truly feels after being rejected by the queen. She doesn’t particularly care for either man, especially after the numerous stories from Sansa about her time in King’s Landing.

They reach the boat, and she is about to step in when Jaime holds her back. “Do not touch me.” She says it quietly, but she says it while looking into his eyes, and she sees the pain her words have caused him. She huffs, “I have every right to be angry with you.”

The men look at them anxiously, aside from the Hound who just grunts impatiently.

She is the one to grab Jaime, pulling him away from the men. He looks at her sadly, “It is the past Brienne.”

“You knew about the baby.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Did you ever plan on telling me?”

“When Brienne?! When I was worried Queen Daenerys was going to burn me with her children when I arrived at Winterfell?! When we were training and preparing not to die?! After, when we are all just happy to be alive?! After that when we were marching off to another war?!”

“We have lain together every night since the celebration feast at Winterfell. Anytime then, would have worked.” He looks down in shame, and it only makes her angrier.

“I have been selfish; I just wanted it to be real.” He speaks faintly, and she isn’t sure she heard correctly.

“ _What_?”

“ _Us_ —I wanted us, to be real.”

“It _is_ real!”

“This can’t last. I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve you, but I thought that if you would have me at all—I could pretend that I was worthy.”

She slaps him across the face, “Pull yourself together Jaime Lannister and stop being such a—such a—DOUR CUNT!” His eyes widen at her unusual use of an obscenity. “It is Cersei Lannister who turns you into that awful person you’re accusing yourself of being.” She places her hands on either side of his face, “Without her influence, you are Jaime Lannister, an honorable man who killed a king that intended on burning millions, an honorable man who kept his oath to Catelyn Stark, an honorable man who turned against Cersei because you wanted to fight for the living because it was the right thing to do. To me, that is who you truly are, and you have saved my life time and again, and I love you...”

“ _Brienne_ —”

“…I am so angry at you for thinking so little of yourself. You have to _choose_ Jaime. We are going to King’s Landing. Who will you be? If you return to Cersei, you will die with her, and you betray me and break my heart. Or, you can help me save Sansa, and we can start a real life together.”

“Cersei will not give me up that easily, and the baby…”

“She never let you be a true father to your children, and she was trying to have you killed in Winterfell, Jaime! Which is another thing you didn’t bother mentioning to me!” He huffs in frustration. “Jaime, Cersei has already gave you up. _The only one holding on is you_. Admit it! She has never loved you as much as you have loved her.”

“Jaime, Ser Brienne is right. There are things I’ve never told you.” Tyrion speaks quietly from beside them, and Brienne grits her teeth, wondering how long the man has been eavesdropping.

“What things?!” Jaime looked at his brother in betrayal.

“All of Westeros knows of what happened to Cersei. Seven hells, everyone across the Narrow Sea heard what happened to her—why she was imprisoned by the High Sparrow.”

“They accused her of adultery and incest, Tyrion; I already know this. They said it was because of cousin Lancel, _of all people_.” Jaime looked bored, and Brienne turned to see the displeasure on Tyrion’s face.

“That’s because it was, Jaime. She was sleeping with him, while you were imprisoned by Robb Stark.”

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not, Jaime.” Tyrion watches him sadly.

Brienne sees Jaime work his jaw, a silent anger burning through him. He refused to meet her eyes before shaking his head furiously, “I cannot just let our baby die…”

“We will ask Queen Daenerys to show mercy for her as long as she is with child. But, you cannot truly believe that Cersei will live once Queen Daenerys takes the crown.” He nods insincerely, and Brienne huffs at her lover in anger. “We need to go.”

Brienne tries to turn away, but he stops her. He looks, so tired, as he stares into her eyes, “I do love you, Brienne. You must believe that I do. I ask that you forgive me, for all of the ways that I have wronged you.” She looks on sadly, grasping the back of his neck and kissing him softly.

Brienne pulls away first, seeing his eyes still closed, savoring the moment. She feels a pain blossoming in her chest and can’t help but worry that it would be the last kiss they ever shared.

***

  
She doesn’t know how many days have passed, but she knows that her body is mottled in blacks and blues as crusted blood sticks her gown to her skin.

Sansa is hardly surprised to see that it is Bernadette who arrives to wait on her. The woman had always been loyal to Cersei, and she looks on impassively as she helps unlace the gown from Sansa’s body. Sansa worries her split lip between her teeth and stays silent as the gown rubs against her injuries the farther down it is pulled from her body.

Both Joffrey and Ramsay had taught her that it was only worse for her if she cried out. The longer she was married to Ramsay, the more she had perfected not making a sound, despite the pain.

It had angered Cersei to no end. Sansa had even managed to laugh at her a few times. She wouldn’t pretend that Cersei had gotten bored of seeing Sansa beaten by both Euron and the Mountain, but at least she was given a reprieve in the form of a bath and promised food.

Sansa sucks in a hiss as she sits in the steaming water. Bernadette doesn’t speak to her, but Sansa knows she wouldn’t bother replying even if she did. Instead, Sansa begins counting new wounds as they fuse into her older scars. Bernadette washes her, and she takes care to not irritate the deeper gashes along Sansa’s back. Once the washing is over, Cersei’s handmaiden lathers her in poultices, wrapping all of the bleeding wounds in cloth. Sansa is certain at least one rib is broken. She whispers as much, and Bernadette is wise enough to start wrapping more cloth tightly around her rib cage. Sansa sucks in another hiss as her eyes tear up from the pain. Once it is done, a sleeveless shift is pulled over her head, and a simple plait is weaved down her back.

She looks at the woman, and she can’t help her curiosity, “Bernadette, whatever happened to Shae?”

“Who?” Bernadette looks at her sourly.

“Shae, my handmaiden…” Sansa looks at the woman irritably.

The woman snorts, “The whore, you mean. She wasn’t a handmaiden. She was your husband’s whore; he gave her to you to keep her around whenever he wanted her. He murdered her the night he escaped and murdered his father. She was in Lord Tywin Lannister’s bed. Of course, no one needed to know about some random whore in his bed the night he was murdered, so no one ever mentioned it. Tyrion Lannister choked the life right out of her, apparently he thought himself in love with the whore.” Sansa’s heart seizes painfully, and it is the first time she has cried since crying with Missandei after their capture. Bernadette looks at her unsympathetically as she signals for a queensguard, not speaking to her again.

Sansa is escorted, barefooted on wobbly feet, to a dank cell in the Black Cells. The stench of the straw beneath her feet is unbearable as her empty stomach roils. She is given a thin coverlet, and she is left alone in blackness—Sansa finds it peaceful as she mourns the woman who had helped her through her imprisonment in King’s Landing…

Her sadness had given way to anger, much later, when Euron Greyjoy carries in a large tray of food and a torch—a hideous grin plastered on his face.

“You’re strong—I’ve never even seen grown men take beatings like you do. _I really like that_.”

“I don’t really give a shit about what you like or don’t like Euron Greyjoy.” His laugh echoes in the small cell, and she wants to slit his throat just to hear the annoying sound die out.

She chooses to take the first sip of her soup instead. It stings as the heat burns the cuts inside her mouth, but she refuses to let it stop her from eating. There was meat and bread on the plate too, but Sansa wasn’t sure if her broken cheek or bruised jaw would allow her to eat something that delicious. Her stomach churns painfully at the first drop of food she’s eaten in days. Sansa starts to hum quietly to distract her from the pain.

“Imagine my surprise when we found you floating in Blackwater Bay. _You were wearing Greyjoy armor_.” She refuses to look up at him as he moves closer into her cell. “I don’t have women on my crew, and you are too beautiful to be from my islands—it took a Lannister soldier to identify you. My queen was fucking delighted.” He laughs again, and _Sansa’s eyes bore into the knife on her tray_. “That armor belonged to my nephew, didn’t it?” He grabs her by the nape and forces her to look at him. “I know all about my nephew’s attachment to you wolf cunts. He couldn’t even properly take over your keep—I know he got carved up by your bastard husband, _just like you did._ That’s why it’s so easy for you to take a beating.” She pulls away to take another sip of soup. “You loved that boy, and he’s dead now, isn’t he? Be glad that Theon died North, Sansa Stark. If not, I would have found him and hurt him worse than that Bolton bastard ever could have. At least I still have Yara. I have great things planned for her. Theon should have never helped her escape.”

Sansa speaks slowly, “You and Cersei deserve one another.” Euron steps away and gives her a vicious smile before turning to leave her cell. “Congratulations—on your unborn child, by the way.” He’s closing her cell, his cockiness faltering for a breath. Sansa licks at her split lip, “ _What I find curious, Euron Greyjoy, was that Tyrion Lannister already knew about it_.” She smiles with a fake kindness and looks down, daintily sipping at her soup again, not caring to see the look on his ugly face.

***

  
Bran sits alone underneath the Heart Tree, his tears falling silently as he stares at nothing.

He hears the crunch of snow, and he sighs, wiping a hand over his eyes. “It’s my fault. I don’t know why I thought it would have gone differently. Sansa said it is Stark men who don’t do well South, but she is the one who has suffered the most down there.”

“What have you seen?” He shivers at the feminine voice that he knows so well.

“The Mountain and Euron Greyjoy have been beating Sansa, under Cersei’s order.” He looks at Meera, and she grimaces standing in front of him.

“How could you have not known that this was going to happen, Bran?” She says it angrily.

He huffs, “I don’t see the future, Meera. I couldn’t have known.”

“But Jojen—”

“Neither the Three Eyed Raven or Jojen taught me to see the future. The three eyed raven hardly had the opportunity to show me how to look into the past.”

“You are the Three Eyed Raven now. Just think on the person you want to see.”

“Every time I’ve done that, it shows me them at the moment, or it takes me to their past! How do I go forward?!”

“Jojen never had a choice. His visions appeared when they needed to, mostly in dreams. He could never seek them out. When he was forced to go forward, it always took the most out of him. Those visions always caused his worst convulsions. But—he wasn’t the Three Eyed Raven; his powers were never meant to be as strong as yours.”

Bran nods, looking at her sadly, “When I wrote to your father, I didn’t expect for you to come along with any of the provisions he sent. Thank you, for coming back Meera, for allowing me to apologize. I’m sorry for Jojen, for Leaf, for Summer and Hodor, for all of it…for the way I treated you before you left.”

Meera shakes her head, “You should have let your brother and sister call on my father sooner. We could have helped during the Great War.”

“I think the old me was always there, underneath the Night King’s spell. I wanted you home, with your father. He didn’t even know about Jojen’s death.” He bows his head. “Forgive me, Meera.”

“I forgive you, Bran.” She pulls at one of his hands, leading it to her lips and kissing the knuckles gently. Bran blushes, and she smiles at him gently. “Focus on me.”

“What?”

“Focus on me. It would be pointless to see me at the moment because I am right next to you. Practice, see where it takes you. If you go to the past, look elsewhere, see if you can go forward.” Bran nods, gently removing his hand from hers. He takes a deep breath, grasping at the arms of his chair tightly as his head falls back. He lets his powers overtake him...

_He sees Meera, her hair covered in snow as she stands behind a younger version of him. She has a knife in her hand, shearing his hair sloppily. They are past the wall, at a time before Bran’s body had grown as long as it was now. His features still that of a child and not a man grown. His hair was hanging well past his shoulders, and he had found it nettlesome. He had asked her to cut it for him, and she had smirked before telling him she would probably ruin it. He hadn’t cared as long as it was out of his eyes. Hodor and Summer lounged on either side of him as he and Meera talked and laughed about old memories—memories of home._

Bran watches the scene, his eyes focusing on both the older man and his direwolf; a sad longing to have his lost caretakers by his side once more.

He pulls away from the vision, not wanting to dwell in sorrow any longer. He looks elsewhere; Meera’s past flashing through in visions. He never stays long, except a few joyful memories of her times with Jojen. Bran watches visions of her father, her mother—of her with him, past the wall. He wades through a countless number and continues searching for an inkling of her future...

_He ends up somewhere familiar. Visions of Meera’s past making him realize that he is at Greywater Watch. He looks around at the marsh and green life surrounding him, and he feels at peace on this land—not Winterfell—but something close to home._

_The heat of summer hides behind thin clouds and a heavy mugginess of recent rain, fills his lungs. He comes across two children swimming through a steaming bog. Their shouts and laughter ring out as they pull themselves underwater, a game to see who could stay underneath the longest._

_Bran huffs tiredly, certain he was in the past again, walking through another vision of Jojen and Meera as children…_

_Still, he moves closer and smiles at the two of them as they breathe through mud. It covers them while they swim through the bog, making them nearly unrecognizable. He feels an unmistakable fondness towards the pair as he watches them._

_He turns his eyes away at the distant shout of another boy, “Jojen, where are you?! We’ve a missive from Winterfell! Mother and father are calling on you; it’s very important!”_

_“We’re in the bog, Rickon!” The boy, Jojen, shouts towards the voice._

_Bran watches in confusion as a boy, older than the one in the water, comes running through the clearing. Bran’s breath leaves him as the boy gets closer. He is a younger image of Bran’s dead brother, Robb. The boy stops short at the bank of the bog, waiting patiently for the two youngest to crawl out of the muddy water._

_Bran’s breath comes back heavily as he eyes the three of them curiously. The younger boy couldn’t have been any older than Bran was, when he was forced to leave Winterfell on Hodor’s back, all of those years ago._

_Oddly enough, the girl seemed younger than the youngest boy, if only by a year or so—_

_Looking closer at them, they appeared much different, yet exactly the same, as the past visions of Jojen and Meera as children._

_The little girl was beautiful, her features similar to Meera’s. She was wringing out the water in her thick curls, but Bran noticed then, the fiery red of her hair, bleeding through the mud caked in it—_

_“I see you’ve ruined yet another gown Aunt Sansa has sent you, Lyarra. Father is going to be very cross with you. You know how hard she works on those gowns.”_

_“Piss off, Rickon! It’ll wash out!”_

_The oldest boy scoffed, “How unbecoming of a lady, Lya. Your mouth is what needs washing out—I’m going to tell mother to do it with lye!”_

_“What do you know about ladies, Rickon? Other than blushing like one when you’re forced to talk to them. Also, mother has an even worse mouth than me and Aunt Arya combined. You know nothing, Rickon.” Lyarra shoves her older brother into the bog. Both she and Jojen bend forward, howling with laughter as they watch him sink…_

_A moment passes before the older boy surfaces from the water, “I’m going to murder you, Lya! I’ll bury your corpse in the crypts of Winterfell, and no one is ever going to know!”_

_“I’ll know, you halfwit!” Jojen says it through his laughter._

_Rickon yanks himself back onto the bank, rising to his feet jerkily, and slinging the mud from his face. The two youngest don’t stay much longer, seeing the anger in their older brother’s expression. They run off quickly, their laughter trailing after them._

_Rickon tries shaking the wet from his clothes, and Bran forces his feet closer to the boy. Even covered in mud, Bran only sees Robb in his features. Bran reaches out a hand, wanting to touch him, to see how real he was._

_The boy looks up at him then, as if sensing him, and his brow furrows before his eyes widen in shock. He speaks breathlessly, “Father, you’re standing…”_

Bran pulls away from the vision quickly, heaving gasps coming from his throat. His eyes focus, and he realizes he is back at Winterfell, and it’s nearing dusk. Meera is still beside him; she is sat against the Heart Tree, honing a bow with her knife.

She looks up quickly, and he watches her as he breathes shakily. Meera rises languidly, coming over to kneel in front of him, curiosity and worry in her eyes.

“You were gone a long while. You saw it— _my future_. Didn’t you?” He nods slowly; his mouth unable to articulate his thoughts yet. “Is it bad?” He shakes his head jerkily. “Then what is it?”

Bran closes his eyes tightly, the memory of his vision playing through his mind again. He can’t help himself as he opens his eyes once more, watching the earnest expression on Meera’s face; he reaches out with both hands, his long fingers tangling in her soft curls. She gasps softly, her eyes widening as she stares back at him.

He bends forward, his forehead touching hers, “Everything will be alright Bran, right?”

Her breath mingles with his, and he sighs happily, “ _It’ll be great, Meera_.”

She lets out a soft murmur, her own fingers grasping at the furs wrapped around his chest, and he closes his eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst, some tragedy, some playing of the game, some foreshadowing, and some fluff...as one does. 
> 
> Love you guys!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda short, and it is most definitely some self-indulgent fluff on my part. Hope you enjoy.

Daenerys brushes a hand over her belly as she looks at herself through her looking glass. She notices a small swell that wasn’t there a sennight ago. She gasps a soft breath, the disbelief of her pregnancy still at the forefront of her mind. She still isn’t certain if she believes it or not, but she has been dutifully listening to the maester. He has given her various tonics, and he has even changed the food she has eaten, encouraging her to eat heartily.

Jon was adamant that he meet all of the men at the Trident, so they could begin preparations for King’s Landing. She had spent the two days since Jon had left, resting. She visits Missandei, and she walks the halls of Dragonstone, taking the time that she hadn’t yet, to explore the keep.

He left Ghost with her, his companion refusing to move any farther than the shores of Dragonstone, attached to Dany’s side as she was saying her goodbye. Jon looked at his direwolf proudly and gave him a loving farewell. Daenerys decided then, that it was smarter to let Jon ride Rhaegal to the Trident. Rhaegal seemed content to see Jon, and he allowed her lover to mount him with ease. Jon was certain that Lord Baratheon and Ser Davos would arrive any day, and she wanted him ready to lead the men to King’s Landing as soon as possible. The two of them flew off, and she found herself saying a prayer for their safe travels.

Daenerys found that she has grown impatient by nature, and the waiting and wondering has been driving her stir crazy.

An urgent knock on the doors of her rooms disrupts the reverence she shows the potential unborn life that is half of her and half of Jon. Ghost startles from his sleep on her bed, and he jumps up to bare his teeth at her doors. She quickly covers her body with her cloak, as the knocking comes on stronger.

She moves to settle Ghost, “Easy darling, it’s alright.” The direwolf calms at her touch as the knocking continues. “Enter!” She yells out impatiently at whoever stands on the opposite side of her doors.

Grey Worm shoves his way into her rooms, “Khaleesi, come quickly!”

“What is the matter?!”

“There are ships on the horizon!” Ghost bares his teeth again, growling menacingly.

“How far are they?! I need to reach Drogon!” She tries to run past him.

He grasps her upper arm gently. “I don’t know if they are enemy ships.”

She looks at him wildly, “What sigils do they bare?”

“I don’t recognize the animal. It is not one I’ve seen before.” She runs to her war room to look out of the bay windows, towards the horizon.

Daenerys stares in wonder as at least twenty ships baring the Baratheon sigil move closer to the shores of Dragonstone. She closes her eyes in relief as she realizes Lord Baratheon and Ser Davos were successful in securing men and a fleet, most of hers destroyed by Cersei’s scorpions. She sends out a silent thanks to both men and Jon.

Grey Worm stands behind her, and she turns to smile at the warrior. “Lord Baratheon and Ser Davos have arrived.” He grins widely, and they both rush to meet the men outside.

Daenerys notes the appearance of the two men as she waits while they disembark from their ship. Lord Baratheon looked uncomfortable, deep lines between his brows as he scowled. The new lord was wearing new clothes, more appropriate for his title, and he carried a long satchel tied to his back. Ser Davos was shrouded in his regular cloak, the gloves he always wore, covering his lost fingers. The old man looked haggard and frustrated, and she wondered what could have made him that way.

“Your grace.” Ser Davos’s voice is clipped, but friendly, as he nods at her respectfully.

“Your grace.” Lord Baratheon is much quieter, imitating Davos’s same nod of respect.

“I am pleased to see you both, and I see that you were successful in the Stormlands.”

“There was _some_ resistance...” Daenerys frowns at the knight, “if anything, you have several curious lords ready to meet the Dragon Queen.”

“I hope they don’t expect me to grovel.” Daenerys says it in jest, but Davos looks at her worriedly. She sighs and looks toward Lord Baratheon. “Have you had word from your wife, Lord Baratheon?”

“Not since we were parted, your grace. I’m anxious to hear news.”

“I have it—Grey Worm and his soldiers will escort your men to the Great Hall. I will introduce myself to your lords there.” She smiles genially at Lord Baratheon, and he returns her smile hesitantly.

She begins the walk toward the keep, and they follow, “How many men were you able to secure Lord Baratheon?”

“Erm—we scrounged about…seven thousand, your grace. Houses Errol, Estermont, Morrigen and Caron were loyal to Stannis up until after the battle at Blackwater Bay during his fight for the throne, or they stuck around long enough to defect before or after Stannis’s battle with Bolton forces up North—whatever way, they know Ser Davos well.”

“It is fortunate they decided to listen to us. They are set in their beliefs that Stannis was far too influenced by Melisandre, and he failed them during those times; they did lose countless men, and were hesitant to bring those left, with them here.” Daenerys nods grimly at the older knight. “Houses Tarth, Connington, Dondarrion and Selmy joined with no fuss. They were eager, even.” Daenerys stops to grin at the older man.

Lord Baratheon speaks again, “The others had joined Renly, then Joffrey, then Tommen. After the boy’s suicide, they refused to bend the knee to Cersei. Still, they are the ones who really need convincing. They refused to send more men than they dared, and they said they would go back home if they don’t find you worthy of support.” Lord Baratheon ends quietly, watching her with a grimace.

Daenerys turns away from them and back toward the shore, watching the men disembark from the ships. Her first thought is to offer these men the same option she once gave Randyll Tarly. The action against the two Tarly men was one that _they chose_ ; she gave them another option…

The thing is, Daenerys listened and understood every time Tyrion warned her about using her children. She thinks on her conquests across the Narrow Sea, and she remembers the justification she felt every time she used them as punishment. Still, as much as she wants to and encourages the action, specifically in regards to Cersei, her subconscious is always aware of the destruction they cause.

Her former hand had consistently refused to recognize her ability for control after every time she abided his advice—every time she had proven her restraint, he always just assumed there would be a time when she wouldn’t; he didn’t trust her— _he was frightened of her…_

Daenerys closes her eyes tiredly and thinks of Samwell Tarly. The pain he displayed when she had told him of his father and brother, and the regret she feels for Jon’s best friend decides it.

She turns back to the men, “Ser Davos, what do you suggest I do?”

“ _Me_?” The man looks at her, baffled.

“Jon trusts your council implicitly, so shall I.”

“Should you not ask Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys for advice?” Ser Davos looks around curiously, and Daenerys lets out an unhumorous huff of laughter.

“I am without a hand or secondary advisor at the moment, Ser Davos. My council consists of Jon Snow, Grey Worm...and Sansa Stark.” She swallows thickly, _another regret_ —she prayed Jon’s sister was still alive. Daenerys works her jaw and continues, “I have relieved both Tyrion Lannister and Varys of their duties. I’m sure you are aware that they advised me to treat with Cersei again, even after her men killed over five-hundred Unsullied and kidnapped Lady Stark and Missandei of Naath. Because of that, I have lost fifty-three more men, Missandei has two broken legs after jumping from the ramparts of King’s Landing to avoid a beheading by the Mountain, and Lady Stark is still a captive.” Ser Davos scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

Lord Baratheon looks at her, “What of my wife? What news do you have?”

She smirks, “Arya has secured her uncle’s support, and they have amassed eleven thousand men from the Riverlands. They are at the Trident with the Dothraki, Northmen, Wildlings and men of the Vale; they are waiting for Jon to return to them. I’m certain he has already made it.” Lord Baratheon smiles widely, and she returns it.

“I’m sorry we missed Jon. When did he leave here?” Ser Davos speaks.

“Two days ago.” Daenerys speaks with certainty.

Ser Davos smirks at her, “I am assuming he has Rhaegal?”

She nods easily, “I thought it best that he get there as quickly as possible. He asked me to await your arrival, otherwise I would have followed him. It is a good thing you arrived when you did. I am not sure how much longer I wished to wait.”

“Very well. You have much work to do then.”

“How should I appeal to these men? One of the last experiences I had with the men of Westeros had them refusing to bend the knee, and I used Drogon as punishment. I’m desperate for the men, and I doubt that tactic will have success this time around—it didn’t the first time.”

“You would be right. These men did not respond well to wildfire on the shores of Blackwater Bay or the black magic and pyres brought on by Melisandre.”

“No fire—got it.”

Ser Davos smiles at her with mirth, “I think that should do it. You’re ready to meet the lords of the Stormlands.”

Her eyes widen at the man, “That’s it? That’s your only advice? Do not have Drogon burn them?”

“Yup.” She scoffs at the knight, and he shakes his head. “Your grace, your exploits across the Narrow Sea and your sacrifices during the Battle of Winterfell will speak for themselves. Curiosity alone, was enough to bring them here. Listen to these men and their concerns. Remind them of what you’ve done for Westeros already. Remind them of what Cersei _hasn’t_ done, hells, remind them of the things she _has_ done.”

“That is much better advice Ser Davos, thank you.” He nods his head once, and she takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the onslaught of what she is sure would be, stubborn defiance, from these lords.

They make there way into the Great Hall and wait for the men as they filter in. As she sits, Ser Davos moves to stand on one side, Lord Baratheon and Grey Worm on the other. She sighs deeply as she sees the outward mistrust and hatred some of the lords show her as she watches them.

“Welcome back to Dragonstone my lords. It is my understanding that because of Stannis Baratheon’s lordship, most of you are familiar with my ancestral home, having most likely visited here more than once.” There are a few grumbles amongst the men, but she ignores them and continues, “I am anxious to sit at my rightful place on the Iron Throne, as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, so I will not waste time. One of my most trusted advisor’s, Lord Jon Snow, asked Ser Davos and Lord Baratheon to call on you all and bring you to my cause. I understand that there are some reservations; I’d like to hear them now.”

A large man pushes his way through to the front of the lords, wearing an angry scowl on his face, “The Targaryens were all mad. We all know what they do to those who question their rule or refuse to bend the knee. That is why we are here—we know what you did to the Tarlys, and we didn’t want to be next!” She hears the murmurs of agreement, and she eyes the man calculatingly.

She puts on a fake smile as she speaks, “What is your name, my lord?”

“I am not a lord; I am a knight, Ser Balon Swann.”

Her smile becomes more genuine as she recognizes the name, “Ah yes, I know of you. Ser Barristan Selmy mentioned you once or twice. You were a white cloak beside him in the Kingsguard; he often commended your fighting skills.”

The man looks at her in shock, “You know of Ser Barristan?”

The smile falls from her face as she remembers one of her most faithful advisors, “Yes. I accepted him into my Queensguard after he was removed of his Lord Commander position in King’s Landing. He was a man I grew to trust implicitly as he taught me the ways of Westeros. He died defending Grey Worm, the commander of my Unsullied.” She nods to Grey Worm, and the men turn to look at him. The warrior bows his head respectfully. “I do not take your anger and frustration lightly, Ser Balon. When I arrived to Westeros, I did not truly know what to expect. I made decisions that were detrimental to my cause—few of my own volition and few by listening to my advisors. As far as the actions that I committed against the Tarlys—I assure you, it was not _madness_ that helped me make it. The Tarlys broke their oath to House Tyrell and their liege lady, Olenna Tyrell. She was _my_ ally, and they chose Cersei over me. I offered clemency, and they responded treasonously by denying me. _Having my children burn them should not be regarded as any different or worse than putting them to the sword_. I rebuke your scorn, and I refuse to apologize.” The men before her, shuffle awkwardly, and she hears murmurs of agreement between them. Daenerys smiles, pleased.

Ser Balon nods reluctantly, still looking wary, “What if we choose to return home and not fight for you?” He asks her with hesitance, and she sighs.

“As with the Tarlys, you will have made your choice, so I must make mine.”

“Which is?!”

She grinds her teeth before speaking, “ _To let you_ —but please be assured, once I take my rightful place as queen, without your help, mind you—I will expect you to answer my call. I don’t think that is unreasonable, do you?”

“So you will _force_ us to bend the knee to you regardless?!”

Daenerys tilts her head, considering his words, “You have already decided against Cersei Lannister. I’m assuming that is why you no longer wear the white cloak; you’ve broken your vows.” He looks away in shame. “I don’t dare imagine what you saw and experienced during your time in King’s Landing, but it is obvious that you know she is not worthy of support. Who will you stand behind, if not me?”

Ser Balon Swann looks at her anxiously before daring to speak, and she realizes, exactly what he is about to say. She grimaces, “Targaryens were overthrown. We will stand behind our true king’s son, Robert Baratheon’s heir—the true heir to the Iron Throne.”

She glances at Lord Baratheon. He has gone red, and he looks dumbfounded. She can’t help but scoff a laugh at the expression on his face. Daenerys remembers her conversation with Arya the night of their wedding. Lord Baratheon was a loyal man, and he had done well to bring his men to Dragonstone for her, so it was not a difficult decision to _trust_ that the man would not turn against her. He hadn’t shown any outward form of rebellion anyway. She turns to Ser Davos, and she allows him to see that there is no anger in her eyes, and the old man sighs in exasperation.

“Lord Baratheon—what do you have to say to Ser Balon’s declaration?” Daenerys asks him gently, wondering what words the affable man would string together. He looks at her determinedly, and she raises her brows. He moves to stand directly in front of her. Daenerys glances at Ser Davos again, and the old man watches him worriedly.

She turns back to hear him speak, “Queen Daenerys, because of my father and his war, your house was near extinct. But, it wasn’t you that brought my own house near extinction. It was the men in my own family and their selfishness that did it to themselves. It is because of your mercy and graciousness that I am a lord now. That my wife, Arya Stark and I, have the opportunity to carry on the Baratheon name.”

She hears the murmurs of confusion, and she realizes that these men probably didn’t know of his marriage. “Before, I was a bastard from Flea Bottom in King’s Landing. I saw the suffering that was brought on by my father and his rule; I was a part of that suffering. Not a single man here can boast about the goodness of Robert Baratheon as king, not really. Yes, he was a good fighter, and he ended the rule of your father, who we all know was mad. _We fucking know_!”

Daenerys snorts at this, and she hears a few men chuckle as well. “All I’m saying is that, you are good, better, and you will be a great queen. You turned away from the crown to fight during the Great War. You gave up one of your children, most of your soldiers, and you lost a few of those closest to you because you knew that the people of Westeros were more important than the crown. You sacrificed a lot, and everyone in this hall owes you a debt that we can only repay by supporting your cause for the crown.”

She feels her heart beat heavily as Lord Baratheon drops down on his knee. He looks at her before bowing his head, “So, as liege lord in the Stormlands—I, Lord Gendry Baratheon, bend the knee and pledge my support for your rule. I will not raise arms against you, and I will answer your call whenever you ask it of me. I will never fight you for your rightful place as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I swear this to you...”

He scrabbles to pull the satchel from his back, and she moves closer to the edge of her chair to look at it curiously as he starts to unravel it. He reveals two, breathtaking, long swords. “Apparently, every house has a great sword… _which I didn’t know about._ ” He glances at Ser Davos with embarrassment. “As you know, I was a smith before I was a lord, so I _accidentally_ melted down the great sword from my own house. It was Valyrian steel, and I knew how much my wife would appreciate it, so I wanted to gift it to her. I needed to make it smaller for her, and there was enough steel to make two. I decided to make the other one for you, as a thank you and a pledge of my loyalty.”

He lifts one of them, “The hilt of your sword is made of a large ruby that was found in the vaults at Storm’s End. I was told by the Castellan that it belonged to my Great Grandmother and your Grand Aunt, Rhaelle Targaryen.”

Daenerys looks at the long sword in awe as he places it in her hands, carefully. “Lord Baratheon, I can’t accept this. You should be the one to wield it, alongside Lady Baratheon.”

He laughs, “I prefer a hammer, your grace.”

She smirks before helping him to his feet, “Then, I shall wield it with honor, but I know I will never wield it as well as your wife wields its twin.”

“I’m not sure that there is anyone that can, your grace.”

She laughs, moving to kiss him on the cheek, “Thank you, Gendry.” She whispers just for him. She knows that he understands that it is for more than just the sword. He squeezes her forearm gently.

Daenerys turns to the lords watching the two of them, “My lords, I need you to know that all of you here in Westeros matter to me. I’ve spent my entire life _yearning to come home_. I am here now, and I need your help. Cersei Lannister is no queen! She does not care about any of you! By what right, does she sit on the Iron Throne?! She betrayed your king, Robert Baratheon, by siring bastards by her own brother! She was a catalyst for all of the suffering Westeros has endured the last few years! What wars has she won? What battles has she fought? Her own brother, Jaime Lannister, has turned his back on her now as well, and he fought beside _me_ in Winterfell during the Great War! If I can forgive the man who killed my own father, and Robert’s son has chosen me as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms because he has decided I am worthy of it, I hope it shows you that I am a great queen, and I will do right by all of you! _Help me break this wheel of tyranny and defeat Cersei Lannister’s unwarranted rule_! I am not ordering you to support me— _I am asking_!”

It is silent in the hall, and she takes several shallow breaths before she sees several of the lords lower themselves to their knees. She gasps, and she knows her eyes well with tears as the rest of them follow those already on the ground, falling to their knees.

It is Ser Balon Swann who unsheathes his sword, “Long live Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!”

“The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” The lords of the Stormlands rise to their feet, raise their swords and chant her title over and over again. Its echo resonates through the Great Hall at Dragonstone.

Daenerys closes her eyes in relief. She knows the moment Ghost comes to stand beside her, and she opens her eyes as she rests a hand in his fur while she uses her other hand to hold her Great sword reverently against her chest. She looks to Ser Davos, and he looks at her proudly. It is the same look he gives Jon, and she knows it _means something._

Grey Worm and Gendry look at her with wide smiles, and she is certain Missandei can hear the chants from her rooms. She wishes Jon was there beside her, and she finds herself wondering what Sansa and Arya and even Bran, would think, and she realizes that what they thought were becoming important to her too.

She feels, more than anything, that she is finally home, and _she is welcome…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gendry coming through for his cousin, Dany. Woot Woot! 
> 
> I know Balon Swann died protecting Cersei on the show, and to my book readers, I know that it is highly improbable that Balon Swann would ever leave the white cloak behind...but shhh...let me have this...
> 
> With a few words from the Starks and Davos, Dany has very quickly come to the conclusion that it’s not about CONQUERING Westeros—let’s not lie to ourselves…Westerosi are stubborn as all hell and would reject that…rebellion would ensue…shit would hit the fan…and we would have Dany stabbed to death in front of the Iron Throne by her lover…oh, wait…
> 
> Dany’s learning that it’s all about campaigning—playing the game, on her own terms (i.e., getting rid of Tyrion and Varys), getting the lords on her side (with some help from her allies) and then DESTROYING Cersei! 
> 
> Also, I’m sure Tyrion and Varys were trying to teach her this, but they always went about it all wrong, in my opinion. It was with an obvious show of fear and a self-serving attitude on their part...especially in the last season...you know? 
> 
> I also think, given time, Dany can purge the bad shit that comes with the game and put people in their places on this wheel she intends on breaking. (Like she attempted to do with Randyll Tarly who thought he was above others—i.e., turning against Olenna Tyrell and thinking of her people as foreign savages) And of course, Dany wants to take care of the people (which she has ALWAYS done—fuck her ooc characterization in the last two episodes.) 
> 
> Y’all feel where I’m going with this?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timelines? In this fic? Who needs ‘em? This chapter is another round of indulgent dialogue.
> 
> Also, my excuse for this chapter’s delay is at the bottom.

The camp stills their movements and a hush settles as a piercing screech is heard overhead. Arya looks upward, realizing exactly what that sound meant. Tormund’s booming laughter rings in her ear as the men of the Riverlands visibly shutter at another screech calling out.

The rest of the men, surprisingly used to the dragons by now, start up through the camp again, tending to their duties. A dragon makes it through the clearing and shouts of fear from Riverlandsmen are heard, and Arya recognizes Rhaegal.

_Jon._

Arya looks at Tormund as he drops the cooked leg of some animal he had found near the woods. The Wildling rushes towards the empty field where Jon was sure to land.

“Uncle, Jon has arrived!” She turns to Edmure Tully in time to see his awed expression as the dragon moves in closer. She smiles wolfishly and follows behind the wildling.

Jon lands and is embraced heartily by Tormund. An exchange of words has Jon laughing as the wildling embraces him again. Arya huffs at the pair and waits until Jon sees her. He moves away from Tormund, swallowing her into a tight hug.

“You are well?” Jon whispers before holding her away from him, looking at her up and down. She nods vigorously in response.

“Are you?” She looks at him with concern.

“Yes.” Arya lets out a breath.

“Sansa?” Jon looks at her mournfully before shaking his head, and she feels her heart constrict.

“We have much to discuss, to plan. But, Ser Brienne has left for King’s Landing—” Arya grinds her teeth together; she _knew_ Tyrion would fail. She looks away from Jon, her eyes straying to Tormund. He raises a brow, watching her knowingly. Subtly, she shakes her head at the wildling— _not now._ He grunts in agitation at her wordless response…

Her uncle had stood beside her, hearing her discussion with her brother. The older man had a pinched expression, looking at Jon. Arya noticed that neither man spoke, but it’s her uncle who reaches out an arm. Jon looks at it unsurely before clasping it in a firm greeting.

Arya let’s out a relieved breath, “Uncle, this is my brother, Lord Jon Snow. Jon, this is my uncle, Lord Edmure Tully. Arya speaks softly as she looks at Jon—so much was unsaid between the two men. Arya wonders at how Jon feels, kindly greeting the brother of a woman who had loathed him and his birth…

“Our queen?” Her uncle asks distractedly.

Jon looks between her and her uncle, “She has remained at Dragonstone; I’ve told her to wait for Arya’s husband.”

Her uncle huffs disbelievingly, “Told her?”

Arya bites her lips together to keep from laughing. Jon’s face reddens slightly, “I’ve asked her.”

“—of course.” Her uncle scrutinizes Jon silently, before smirking. _Coming to his own conclusions,_ Arya thought. Her uncle clapped her brother across the shoulder. “Well then, shall we discuss our next plan, as you wished. And perhaps you will tell me how it is that you arrived on a dragon?” Her brother swallows thickly before walking away from her; her uncle beside him. She takes a moment to reflect on her uncle’s easy acceptance of what Jon had told them.

It was something that Arya hadn’t expected from Edmure Tully. She often recalled stories her mother had told of her uncle, and she pictured a very different man than the one she has gotten to know. The liege lord of the Riverlands could be silly, but easily frustrated, and yet, unassuming most of the time—each characteristic surprising every time it is revealed…

Arya had worried he would resist in aiding their queen, but it only took a short retelling of the Great War before he readily agreed. She was shocked to learn that her uncle had been taking in frightened and displaced Northerners after the war. He was unaware of exactly what had transpired, most devout Northerners unable to vocalize exactly why they decided to leave their beloved North without sounding crazed. Still, he was unwilling to turn away any of his late sister’s people.

Her uncle was a good man, _honorable_ , even.

“ _Little wolf._ ” Tormund makes it sound like a reprimand and Arya rolls her eyes as he stares at her intently. “Do ye plan on telling ‘em yer leaving tonight?”

She glares at the wildling and his correct assumption, “I’m not just going to disappear. I will let my brother know.”

“Good, that’s smart. What about the other situation?” He crosses his arms, blocking her way, and she’s tempted to put him on his back, just because she knows she could— _his size be damned_.

Instead, she looks at him evenly before speaking, “That is none of your concern, Tormund.”

He grunts, “It’s my concern because I’m the one who has been forced to care for ye on the road.”

“Caring for me? Is that what you’ve been doing?” He glares at her need to make a jest.

He grumbles, “I still have yer sick on my boots and my fur.”

Arya sighs, “Tormund, if I tell my brother _I’m with child_ and then I tell him I’m leaving to go and rescue my sister, he will not let me go. Mind you, I will find a way, but he will be very cross with me—”

Tormund frowns at her, “I know how much he worries over ye—our crow deserves to know.”

Arya closes her eyes briefly, “My husband deserves to know first. It’s a good thing I’m heading in his direction, isn’t it?” She shoves past the wildling, and he growls as her shoulder barrels into his side.

“Yer very stubborn, little wolf!” Tormund shouts out blatantly, and she smirks as she continues to walk away, following her brother and uncle.

 

***  
  


“Jaime Lannister once threatened to catapult my son across the walls of Riverrun, just to return to his sister’s side. I have no faith that he intends to save my niece from Cersei Lannister. It was a mistake allowing him to return to King’s Landing with this…Ser Brienne, Lord Snow...” Edmure Tully speaks lowly.

Jon rubs his temple. They’d all been arguing about Sansa for a while now, no one able to agree. Plus, Yohn Royce’s booming voice was making Jon’s head ache as the man continued to threaten to leave with all of his men. Jon is tempted to let him, if only to get him to shut his mouth.

Jon looks up as Arya speaks; he recognizes the worry in her eyes, “You are certain Cersei Lannister will not kill our sister as long as there is an opportunity to parlay with you; I believe you. But we cannot chance Sansa’s life _again_ Jon. Tyrion failed—it is time for both of us to realize that I should have been the one to go to King’s Landing—”

“—I’m sorry, are you saying that you can save Sansa, Arya?” Her uncle interrupts and looks at them all in bemusement.

Jon turns to eye Edmure seriously. “Lord Edmure, my littlest sister was the one to kill the Night King; the reason we are all alive. She is also the reason the next son your wife births will be heir to the Twins...”

The lord’s eyes widen in shock. “ _You_ killed the Freys’, Arya?”

“Walder Frey and his sons slaughtered our family. It was the least that I could do.” Arya shrugs, and Jon sighs at the sincerity in his sister’s voice. _If only I could have saved her from feeling as if it was her responsibility._

He shakes his head from the thought, realizing that there was nothing wrong with Arya. He was being sanctimonious. Jon isn’t sure if he _would_ have done the same, but he knows he _could_ have. He and Sansa united as much of the North as they could, to fight for their home. Jon was going to kill Ramsay for Sansa, _for Rickon,_ but he let Sansa do it because he knew she deserved that death. _Sansa wanted it._ So, why was he always trying to coddle Arya? Why was he always trying to treat his sisters differently?

Arya speaks again, “I cannot wait for all of our men to travel to King’s Landing. I’d be faster alone. I won’t kill Cersei, but I will get Sansa. I know you have faith in Brienne; hells, I admire Brienne, but she is susceptible to Jaime Lannister.”

“Fucking cunt.” Tormund spits out, and its Arya’s uncle who snorts a laugh.

Jon sighs again before speaking, “Brienne is bound by oath, and she has saved Sansa once before. I trust her with Sansa’s life, as does Sansa herself—but, you may go Arya. Take Tormund with you.” He looks to his friend. The wildling looked grim, but he nodded all the same.

Arya nods too. “That’s fair.”

He focuses on the map in front of him, pulling a figurine from the table, “I will send a raven to our queen before nightfall. We march for King’s Landing—the Golden Company will be on the ground, and we need to draw them outside of the gates.”

Everyone around the war table nods in unison. They strategize for some time, before he dismisses them all. It is Lord Edmure who stays behind. Jon watches him with a frown, before the lord finally speaks.

“My wife told me that they were all poisoned by a girl posing as Walder Frey. I thought my wife mad, if I am being honest. Now...” Edmure Tully chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head.

Jon speaks bluntly, curious of the man’s next answer, “Was it difficult— _staying wedded to your wife_ , after all her family did to yours?”

Lord Tully grimaces at him, “At first. I was certain that I hated her. _I knew_ , I hated her. But, I realized that she and my son were the only family I had left…or so I thought. Still, I had to forgive—for my son, for myself. My wife is gentle and kind and a good mother. She begged forgiveness, even though I knew she was not at fault. However, I’m sure had my sister lived, she would have disagreed and killed Roslyn herself.” Jon hums, an odd ache in his chest at the thought of Catelyn Stark. “You know, I’ve met you once, before.” Edmure Tully waves a hand, and Jon blinks, remaining silent. “I was just on the cusp of manhood, and you were a babe, brought into our home, at Riverrun.”

“When my father returned with me…from Dorne.” Jon swallows thickly, thinking of his mother, _Lyanna Stark_.

“I wasn’t told anything, at the time. All I remember is that my father and my sister forbade me from the vestibule and room where you stayed. I was angry to be kept out of a place in my own home. Plus, I was curious as to what could have made both of them so angry at my good brother, Lord Stark. So, I snuck into the room where you slept. I was disappointed.” The lord laughs.

“Disappointed?”

“Aye. You were just a babe. A bit melancholic, but no different then the boy my sister had, Robb, my nephew. I tried playing with you, but I was caught by the wet nurse, who then called on your father.”

Jon’s laughing now, “Was he angry?”

Lord Tully laughs too, “No, he allowed me to play with you for a bit before sending me on my way, making me promise not to tell my sister. I agreed; it was always difficult being the focus of my sister’s anger.” He grins, “I don’t think I ever had the privilege of seeing your father angry.”

“You were lucky then—he could be quite intimidating.”

“I’m sure; a man with a face as cold as the North is bound to have a hidden fire in him.”

Jon frowns, “What an odd thing to say.”

Edmure shrugs,“Why? Because I am right or because you share his face?”

Jon blinks, mulling over his words, “My father always told me I looked more like my mother...” Ned Stark had never said that, but he wanted to chance the words, to see how they made him feel. Jon liked the idea of looking more like his mother.

Edmure nods, “Perhaps you are right.” Jon watches the lord grimace, “I always respected your father for taking you in. Lords are allowed to drink and whoremonger, but when it comes to consequences, they are allowed to go unscathed and ignore those begot of their bad decisions. Secretly, I thought it hypocritical, and I have never agreed with it.” Lord Tully claps his shoulder, “As much as I loved my sister, I feel the need to apologize for her; I’m sure it was not easy for you growing up—knowing how much she despised you.”

Jon smiles sadly, “I have had a long time to think on this, and I would gladly live through it again Lord Edmure, if it meant the family we lost, were all still here with us.”

Edmure smiles back, “An honorable response my lord, and one I can’t necessarily disagree with.”

Jon nods in understanding. He moves to exit the tent, Lord Edmure beside him as they go to speak to their bannerman.

 

***

 

 “Your grace?” The breeze is biting on Dragonstone’s shores as Daenerys turns to Gendry. He stands away from her and Drogon, watching her child with a look of awe and fear.

Drogon shifts his wings slightly and Gendry takes a wide step back. A bubble of laughter leaves Daenerys’ lips, and she stretches out her hand to him, “Come on then...” Gendry’s brow furrows suspiciously. She is testing him, and he seems to recognize that. She smirks. He moves slowly, placing his hand in her gloved one. His hand is large and heavy, and her smirk turns into a gentle smile as she pulls the blacksmith lord closer to her child.

Daenerys learned Drogon’s temperament long ago; she knows it as much as she knows her own—her child is in an easy repose as he watches the both of them move towards him. She places Gendry’s hand atop her child’s scaly skin, and Drogon shifts his wings again. Gendry tries to pull away, but she holds his wrist steady.

She doesn’t hide the wonder in her voice, “You have a bit of Targaryen in you...” Daenerys closes her eyes; she feels no anger at the truth of that statement, only relief. She smiles as her thoughts turn to Jon; there is no longer any anger towards him either... “It is so nice to know that I’m not quite so alone.” It is quiet for a while before Gendry clears his throat, and she looks to him. “Perhaps it isn’t enough to ever ride one of my children, but I think it’ll be enough that Drogon and Rhaegal will care to not harm you.”

Gendry huffs a surprised laugh as he focuses his eyes on his hand as it hesitantly brushes across Drogon’s body. “How do you explain Jon then?” There is no accusation in his voice, only curiosity, but Daenerys purses her lips at her slip up.

“Inexorable.” She says it airily.

He turns his face to cock a brow at her, “I don’t know what that means.”  

She laughs loudly before remembering the fight she had had with her lover at Winterfell. She clears the laughter from her voice before speaking again, “Ask Jon someday. It isn’t my truth to tell, I suppose...”

He watches her with a frown before nodding thoughtfully, “Grey Worm said you wished to speak to me privately, your grace? I’m assuming it isn’t only because you wanted to introduce me to Drogon?”

She blinks at his abrupt change of topic, “Right. First, I wanted to ask you how you were fairing. You are a lord now, and I am sure it has been overwhelming. I need to make sure your men are abiding your leadership. Will I need to intervene at all?”

He swallows thickly before speaking, “Ser Davos has been very helpful,” He waves his free hand halfheartedly. “with all of this.”

Daenerys nods at him, “Yes, but _you_ are Lord Baratheon, the Stormlands liege lord; if your men assume that you are not the one in control, they will start making their own decisions, because they dare to—unfortunately, my trust in the Stormlands can only measure up to so much. They may call me their queen now, but I will not rely on them until they have proven themselves—but I trust you, Gendry. If I am to be successful, I need all of them in line before we even leave Dragonstone’s shores. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your grace. I will not let you down.” He turns to her fully—his back to Drogon, and Daenerys grins widely at his bravery.

“You have a fighting spirit Gendry. Your journey has been different from my own, but you are more than deserving of your lordship. I am pleased you have chosen to be my ally.”

He speaks unsurely, “I had no idea Baratheons shared Targaryen blood until the Castellan told me of my great grandmother. We are family, and you will always have my sword…or hammer, more like.”

It is her turn to swallow thickly as she tries to hide her emotions, “In that case, you may call me Dany, in private. It is what Jon prefers.”

His frown returns, “And Jon is your family?”

She smiles softly, “We are to be wed, after all of this is over…”

He blinks at her before chuckling, “Then we are to be family in more ways than one...”

Her smile widens, “Yes, I suppose we are.”

He muses, “Who would of thought that two bastards could ever be so fortunate…” Daenerys lets out another loud laugh before taking his arm and moving them towards her ancestral keep.

It is comfortably quiet before Daenerys speaks seriously, “I’ve received word from Jon, Princess Elia and Queen Yara. Princess Elia and her bannerman have traversed the Boneway. They are now moving through the Stormlands, and I have decided to be with them as they march to King’s Landing. We have an element of surprise in them. Any information Cersei received will most likely have come from her Hand, and Grey Worm killed him during our rescue of Missandei—there should be no one who knows that we have followed through and actually called on Dorne’s bannerman. We also have Jon moving the North, the Vale, my Dothraki…and _the Riverlands_ , another surprise, past the Trident—”

“Jon’s plan has worked.” Gendry looks at her unassumingly.

Daenerys nods as she releases a deep breath. “Yes, it was a smart plan.” She stops their walk to look at him, “All remaining allied Greyjoy ships will unite with the Baratheon fleet on Blackwater Bay. Yara and your men are my last surprise for Cersei Lannister.” He nods dismally. “You will tell Yara’s men apart from Euron’s by the _red_ kraken embedded on the bows of her ships.” Gendry looks at her haltingly, and she speaks slowly. “Lord Baratheon, your men are my greatest number coming from the East, so—you will lead the charge through Blackwater Bay, onto King’s Landing’s shores. Granted, Grey Worm and Yara will be by your side, leading their own men, but King’s Landing is your home; you know the layout better than any of us, so they will follow you. You must devise a plan and share it with all of us during my next war council.”

He looks at her wide eyed, “Your gr-, Dany, I cannot.”

She speaks forcefully, “You must. We are at war, and this is part of your duties as a lord, a liege lord. Gendry, I am relying on you.”

“My first real battle was at Winterfell! I only wished to survive then so I might see Arya again! I don’t know the first thing about leading men into a fi—”

Daenerys interrupts him, “Your biggest feat to overcome will be Cersei’s ballistics. She calls them scorpions, and there is one for every five of Euron’s ships. They are powerful enough to kill my children, luckily they will be nowhere near Blackwater Bay. However, the scorpions capsized almost all of my fleet, and that cannot happen to yours.”

“H-how do we avoid something like that?!”

“Dragon glass.” He raises his brow, and she continues, “While I treated with Cersei for Missandei and Lady Stark’s lives, I was having the majority of my remaining Unsullied fish out as much wood planks from my ruined fleet as they could. A lot of it was waterlogged and useless, but what was salvageable is currently being built into trebuchets. Two will be able to fit onto each Baratheon ship. As far as the dragon glass—you are a formidable blacksmith, and I was impressed with the weapons you created at Winterfell. But now, I need you and your men to mine more, and smith projectiles large enough to destroy Euron’s ships.”

He puffs out a breath, “How much time do I have?”

She grimaces, “Very little.”

Gendry rolls his eyes, “Well, it is more time than I had at Winterfell...”

Daenerys cannot help the warmth she feels for her cousin as her smile grows at his last words. Gendry slowly returns his own smile before they quickly make for Dragonstone’s keep, arm in arm.

 

***

 

_She takes a large swig of wine from her golden cup as she looks out of her bay windows. Night has just fallen, but she can still hear the laughter and merriment of the nobility in the keep as they lounge about the gardens, below her rooms. Her bitterness and anger are exemplified in the snarl of her lip._

_The door to her room opens, the heaviness of the wood unmistakably loud. She glances behind her to see Bernadette allowing a man inside. Cersei nods her thanks to her handmaiden before signaling her away with a hand._

_Bernadette bows swiftly, exiting with a curious expression on her face as she looks between the queen and her new companion._

_The silence is charged with an unspoken tension. “I was correct?” He watches her silently before nodding once. She grinds her teeth together before turning away, not allowing the man to see the obvious pain and indignant fury pass over her features._

_“Ser Jaime spoke to me in secrecy, soon after Lord Tyrion was taken back to his cell. I have spoken to an Essosi merchant; I will see Tyrion leave King’s Landing before sunrise—as you have requested.”_

_She doesn’t disguise her anger, “It wasn’t a request. It was an inevitability, and I am no fool, despite what both of my brothers might think.”_

_“Of course your grace, but I am unsure if this is wise.”_

_Cersei turns back to the man, “Come now, the imp is your friend. I was sure you’d be pleased with his survival.” The man watches her impassively, remaining silent, and Cersei smirks. She takes another swig of her wine as she moves to sit at her fasting table, “You are ruthless, Lord Varys.” She watches him closely before speaking, “Who do you serve?”_

_“I serve the ruler of this realm, your grace.” He speaks with trained assuredness._

_“How noble of you.” Her sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed as the eunuch raises a brow. She begins, “Tommen’s coronation is already being planned. It has come to my attention that Joffrey’s whore of a widow and her wretched grandmother have already begun plans to wed and bed my little boy. Stannis still fashions himself as the true king of the Seven Kingdoms. The Targaryen girl is conquering her way through Essos and will wish to target Westeros soon after. That being said, I am to be Tommen’s regent until he is of age. My job is to make sure that my son’s crown is secure. So, it seems that you and I have one important thing in common.”_

_“Yes, your grace…it seems we do.”_

_“My question to you is, who do you think is best to serve as ruler of this realm, that you so care for?” A flicker of hesitation crosses his features before the impassivity returns. She eyes him impatiently, “I am willing to bet my life that you are aware of every move that is being made against Tommen.”_

_“Your gra—”_

_She speaks bitingly, “Tommen will be the fourth king that you’ve seen sit the Iron Throne—will there be more? Will you save yourself if the dragon whore were to invade Westeros? If Stannis tried invading King’s Landing again? Even more, would you advocate for Margery Tyrell, a woman grown, to marry Tommen, a mere boy, so she may manipulate him as she pleases? How can I trust you on my son’s council when I have never found you to be a loyal member? What, Lord Varys, am I to do with you?”_

_He speaks measuredly, “I am the Master of Whisperers; it is my responsibility to know the happenings and the threats against Westeros. I have served many kings because I am useful and great at what I do.”_

_“But not loyal…if I were to ask you to tell me what every single one of these imposters plan to do next, would you speak truthfully?” She stares at him angrily._

_“I am loyal…to the realm, your grace, that includes our king.”_

_She smirks, “I am pleased you have said that Lord Varys. We are entering into new era of tumultuous conflict. And, I have decided that you are no longer welcome as a member of the small council. Fortunately for me, it seems that your little birds around this keep are more loyal to food, water and shelter than they will ever be loyal to you. You are not as useful here as you assume. That does not mean that you are no longer useful to me…”_

_He wears a look of unmasked concern and speaks faintly, “I will do what needs to be done to make sure our king keeps his crown, your grace.”_

_“I only ask for one thing—prove your loyalty. You will do this by accompanying Tyrion to Essos. The journey will be long and arduous, but if you are successful, I will see that your position on my son’s council be returned to you.”_

_Lord Varys bows, “Of course, your grace. I will carry out whatever you ask of me. For the realm, for our king.”_

_She smiles at him, over the rim of her glass, before swallowing the rest of the wine inside of it._

Bran pulls away from the vision, cursing under his breath. He wheels himself away from the hearth where he sat, resting his eyes from Winterfell’s books and the various missives delivered from across the North.

He had been pulled into the vision unexpectedly.

He’s angry at himself for not seeing it earlier. He was supposed to see and know all, but he still couldn’t get ahold of certain aspects of being the Three Eyed Raven.

Ignoring the opening and closing of the door to Sansa’s solar, he scribbled viciously across the parchment as he wrote to Daenerys, to Jon and Arya. He knew he’d need to keep looking into his visions, to see how far Varys betrayal went, but he needed to send them something—before it was too late. Why had he not seen Varys sooner? Perhaps it was because he never had a suspicion to really look…

“Let me help you…” Meera rests her hand atop his, speaking urgently. He hadn’t realized how his hand shook, his scrawl across the paper illegible.

“ _Varys_ —”

“I know, you were speaking aloud as you were writing. Granted, I don’t know who Varys is…”

“He was a member of Daenerys small council.”

“ _Was_?”

“Daenerys removed him only recently, thank the Gods for that. He will need to be apprehended, the sooner the better. I’m not sure how much more damning information he could share with Cersei, but he is on his way to King’s Landing now.”

“Then we will work quickly, and you must keep looking into your visions.” He nods as Meera begins penning the missives.

Bran takes in a deep breath, watching Meera work. His head falls back, and he lets the Three Eyed Raven overtake him. He looks to the future…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Varys only turned back to the ship carrying Tyrion in 4x10 AFTER the bells signifying the death of Tywin were heard, but as I was outlining this, I thought that I remembered watching that scene and thinking that he had a very distinct look of frustration, not fear, on his face. That was back when I thought D&D were a bit smarter—they also still had GRRM… Anyway, I went back and watched the scene again, and I still came up with the same conclusion. So, I’ve made Varys’ disposition in that scene into something much more for this fic…
> 
> As for the long wait since the last chapter? The truth was that I fell into a strong bout of writers block. I’ll tell you what triggered it—it was that stupid line where Jon tells Edmure that his second son will inherit the Twins. I realized that Arya most definitely did not kill Walder Frey’s smaller male heirs. Then I felt that I was tying her too closely to what D&D made of her character and that I was ruining her, etc., etc. 
> 
> I just felt awful and everything I wrote was trash, and I felt in over my head, and I basically fell into a shame spiral—I actually tried separating myself from GOT and this fic…Stupid, I know, but that’s what living inside my head is. 
> 
> BUT I came across that twitter thread (a little late) where D&D were being interviewed at the Austin Film Fest??? And they basically admitted to ignoring canon and omitting most of asoiaf fantasy concepts to reach wider audiences and that HBO green-lit their show even though their original pilot was the WORST, apparently. 
> 
> Now I’m not as ashamed, and I don’t want to give up on this story anymore… Arya is still the GOAT, and I refused to change that dialogue between Jon and Edmure…to spite myself. Let’s just pretend that those male heirs don’t exist…it’s now apparent that canon has become nonexistent with the show anyway. 
> 
> I’m gonna keep doing what I want and what I think feels right with this story. 
> 
> I hope y’all still enjoy it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what to say, other than, I am so fucking sorry for the delay. 
> 
> I hope Ms. Rona is treating y’all well. Wash your hands. Stay safe. Stay inside.

_Everything hurts._ The material she was shrouded under was not thick enough to keep away the damp chill in the deep recess of her black cell. She was curled in on herself as she attempted to stave off the cold—wound tight, shivering uncontrollably, the pain from her throbbing wounds and aching bones was magnified.

Sansa had been in her cell too long, days. No one had came back, and she was starved. She had resorted to drinking handfuls of a putrid pail of water in the corner of her cell. It was near finished. She knew without water, without food, without proper care for her wounds... _she would die._

Cersei wouldn’t just leave her here, _she wouldn’t._

There was a continuous scratching sound in the cell next to her; it had been driving her mad. Sansa couldn’t be sure what the noise was, but she thought she had heard a voice whispering, every once in a while. She admitted to herself, that it frightened her. She wouldn’t dare speak up, scared the voice was in her mind, and she really was going mad.  

The scratching continued… 

“ _Please…please stop_!” Sansa tried to cover her ears as she cried out, her voice rough from disuse. Her body convulsed as she coughed violently. After the fit ended, she realized that the noise had stopped. Sansa held in her breath; her head picked up for any other sound. 

The scratching started again…

She let out a whimper as she curled in on herself again. 

“It is too quiet in this cell, next to these bones; they refuse to talk back. The noise is my only companion.” A feminine voice spoke  melodically.

Sansa unfurls slowly, her wounds and shaken bones protesting violently. She sucks in a ragged breath and crawls towards the wall separating her from the voice. 

“Who is there?” Sansa’s head lolls against the cold stone. She shivers violently again, her teeth chattering painfully. No one responds, but she’s certain now that the voice wasn’t in her head. “Please, speak to me.” She lays a hand against the wall, tears trickling from her eyes. She licks at them before they slip from her face, letting them wet her cracked lips. 

“I haven’t anything useful to say, sweet wolf.” The voice is defeated, a Dornish lilt bleeding through. Sansa doesn’t recognize it. 

“You know who I am?” 

“I heard the squid call you by your name when you arrived. You may know of me too.” 

“You are Dornish. We’ve met before?” Sansa tries to remember her time in King’s Landing. 

The woman gasps a laugh, “Not formally, but you might’ve observed me, from afar. I know I’ve seen you. Cersei’s bastard son’s wedding, to the Tyrell girl.” 

“What is your name, my lady?” 

There is a pause, before the defeat speaks again, “Ellaria Sand.” Sansa’s mind stutters to a stop, the name familiar. 

She remembers suddenly, “Prince Oberyn’s paramour. You pledged Dorne to Queen Daenerys; you were captured. Everyone thought you dead.” 

“No, _unfortunately_.” She whispers. 

Sansa grimaces, “This is good news, my lady.” Sansa tries for comfort.

A bitter laugh, “My ears hear you Lady Stark, what sanity is left in my mind, disagrees.”  
   
Sansa speaks determinedly, “Your daughter, Elia, is Princess Elia of Dorne now. She will be elated to have you home, after the war is over.” Sansa listens to silence until wretched sobs of the woman in the cell next to her ring out. “Princess Elia upholds your pledge to Queen Daenerys. She could help her win this war. You will return home, my lady.”

Ellaria quiets suddenly, speaking evenly, “We have already lost. We will die here, Sansa Stark.”  

Sansa shakes her head in the blackness, despite her pain. “Moons have passed, yet you still live, my lady.” 

“I do not live of my own volition, girl. I’ve watched my daughter die, bloated and decaying before my eyes. Her stench is burned in my nostrils. She is not but bones now. Forcing me to live is my torture, my punishment. I’ve tried to refuse water, food. The Mountain comes right before death takes me—forces food and water down my throat. I haven’t the will to deny him anymore. I would’ve impaled myself on these bones, if I did not treasure them so. The thought of breaking what is left of my darling girl—” Ellaria let out a strangled wail, and Sansa closes her eyes despairingly. 

“You may wish for death my lady, but I do not. I won’t let Cersei win. _I cannot_.” Sansa feels an anger course through her, “Are you not angry, furious, that she has resorted you to this?!” 

“Not anymore, now I’m just tired, Lady Stark. I’ve lost Oberyn, his daughters and mine. _I’m tired_.” 

“If you do not avenge them, then they’ve died for nothing.” 

“ _Fuck you_ , Sansa Stark. Do not presume to tell me what they have died for!” Ellaria speaks viciously.

Sansa smirks, her split lip pulling. “So there is still some anger in you then?” 

It is quiet only for a moment before Sansa hears a genuine laugh from the cell next to hers...

***

“Varys? You’re sure?” Arya speaks between gritted teeth.

“Bran saw it.” Jon hovers the missive over a lit candle, silent, as he watches it burn.

He had called on Arya as soon as he had finished reading the raven the first time. She was preparing to leave with Tormund, but he couldn’t let her go without letting her know of Varys’ betrayal. 

“Where is he?” Arya speaks evenly.

Jon smothers the last bit of parchment under his boot and sighs, “On a boat, headed for King’s Landing.”

“What?!” Arya looks at him wildly.

“Dany has released Tyrion and Varys of their service. They won’t be counseling her anymore. After the parlay, she couldn’t trust them.” 

“Then why would she just let them leave Jon?!” 

“What was she meant to do?!”

“Imprison them—keep them on Dragonstone!” 

“On what grounds would she have them imprisoned Arya?! They claimed the parlay would work. It didn’t, but they have shown no obvious collusion or betrayal, just terrible decision making.” Jon paces, “Her reign is unstable at best. Imprisoning counsel members on suspicion would give our enemies the opportunity to claim madness. Her father is Aerys Targaryen; I know you haven’t forgotten that. No one has.” 

Arya sighs, “Is Varys alone?” 

Jon shakes his head, “It was the same boat Ser Brienne left on. We can only hope that she will have found him out.” 

“Is there anything he can tell Cersei that could jeopardize us?” 

“He is only aware of Princess Elia and Queen Yara’s forces. And Dany never even called on them. I did it for her. He doesn’t know of the Riverlands or the Stormlands.” 

Jon sees the acceptance in Arya’s eyes, “What will you do?” 

“We continue our march to King’s Landing. None of this will matter once our forces get there. We are on equal footing now.”

“Okay, but what will be done about Varys?” 

Jon grunts, “I will side with Dany, whatever she chooses. Bran said he has sent her a raven as well. She will not take this news lightly—” 

“—and she shouldn’t.” Arya interrupts.

“Good. You agree.” Jon sighs, “We have to win this Arya; Varys will be dealt with after this war is over. Daenerys will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I won’t accept less.” 

Arya smirks, “You really love her, don’t you?” 

“Yes.” Arya huffs a laugh, and Jon speaks up gently, “She is pregnant, Arya.” 

Arya’s eyes widen, “ _Seriously_? Was this on purpose?” 

He eyes her drolly, “No, but this isn’t the worst thing to have ever happened, right?” 

Arya blinks, “I thought you never wanted children.” 

Jon frowns at his sister, “The Seven Kingdoms may still see me as a bastard, but we know it is in name only. Besides, I am Warden of the North. I was a king and a Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Things are different. She makes me want more. Do you judge me?” 

She smiles kindly, moving towards him, “I would never, Jon. That wasn’t what I meant, and you know that.” He closes his eyes as Arya brushes a hand over his face. “She is an amazing woman. She is what you deserve.” 

He grimaces, “I’m not sure I believe that.” 

“I do.” Arya shrugs before her expression changes to something serious. She opens her mouth to speak; she closes it instead. She does it again.

“What is it?” Jon moves his hands to her shoulders. She looks at him before scrunching her face in deliberation, and he laughs, “What, Arya?”

Jon listens to her huff before speaking to him quickly, “ _Iamtoo_.”

“You are too, what?” Arya waits silently before her words register. “You’re pregnant Arya?!” She nods jerkily. “And you were going to travel alone to King’s Landing?!” 

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you—I am still going!” She tries to pull away. 

He closes his eyes, tucking his sister into him tightly, “ _Seven hells Arya_.” They are quiet as they embrace each other.

Eventually Arya speaks, squeezing him closer, “I am happy for you Jon, and the queen too.” 

He sighs, “And I you, Arya. You’re going to be a mum.” She groans miserably into his chest, and he laughs loudly. He sobers and hugs her tighter, “I cannot tell you not to go. Especially when Dany is still fighting. Just, be safe. Get Sansa out of there.” 

She nods against him. Her voice clear, “The pack survives.” 

***

Brienne watched suspiciously as Varys tried to walk away from their group as they pulled their boat to hide behind a crag. 

It was Tyrion who spoke, “Varys, where do you think you are going?” 

The man turned and raised a haughty brow, “Away.” 

“Away where?” Podrick huffed, arms crossed against his chest.

“Forgive me, but what do you expect me to do?” Varys watched all of them blandly.

Brienne was sure Varys was intentionally avoiding the question. She places a hand against her sword and follows to stand beside Podrick. She knows that the eunuch notices the action. He purses his lips at her. 

“This wasn’t just a free ride, my lord. We have a duty to save Lady Stark. It’s the fault of you and Tyrion that Cersei has her.” Brienne stood taller, a frisson of tension radiating down her spine as she spoke. 

“I beg to differ, Ser Brienne. It was Tyrion who convinced the queen. I was merely an observer of the exchange.” 

“An accomplice—you defended my choice to the queen.”  Tyrion spoke bitingly. 

“We have a responsibility to rescue the Lady of Winterfell. That is why the queen let us come here. Both you and Tyrion wanted passage on our boat, so that means that you must help us too. We will need every advantage. Your knowledge of the Red Keep, for instance.” Brienne spoke over Tyrion.

“She allowed the four of you—” He gesticulated with a passive hand to her, Podrick, Jaime and The Hound. “but she forced Tyrion and I off Dragonstone. Besides, you have more than enough men here who know the keep as well as I do.” 

“We must remain in Queen Daenerys’ good graces. Saving Lady Stark is a right step in that direction.” Tyrion spoke forcefully. 

“All of you are fools if you think I’m going to willingly place myself in a position that could have me caught by Cersei Lannister. I betrayed her when I saved Tyrion. I betrayed her by siding with Daenerys Targaryen and convincing Ellaria Sand and Olenna Tyrell to side with the Dragon Queen. Cersei will kill me. I serve no one, any longer. I have no more obligations to the realm.” 

“And you are a fool, if you think that we are oblivious of your machinations Varys.” Jaime spoke arrogantly. 

“You’ve spent too long serving the realm; you won’t give it up that easy. Don’t forget, I know where you come from; _I know your story._ ” Brienne watched Varys’ impassivity give way to…something. His eyes fiery, as Tyrion spoke the last few words. It was the most emotion she had ever seen from the man, despite his lax stance. 

“This is a waste of fucking time. The fucker isn’t going to helps us. If you cunts are that worried about him, let me slit his throat and be done with it.” Brienne places a hand over The Hound’s chest as he tries to pass toward Varys. 

The eunuch huffs, “My birds have flown their nest since we’ve left Dragonstone. Fishmonger’s Square will be a good place to find some old friends—listen for their songs. I suggest you wait until nightfall. Lest you be found out before you have the chance to save Lady Stark.” 

“I will go with you.” Tyrion walked closer. 

“Absolutely not. You are as discreet as one of the queen’s dragons flying overhead.” Varys pulled the cowl of his long robes, over his face, and started away. 

Brienne watched the man leave, refusing to look elsewhere. Once he had gone, she turned to her former squire. “ _Podrick_.” Brienne only had to speak his name. He nodded before moving to follow Varys. “Do not let him see you.” She called out quietly. He turned to acknowledge her and kept moving. 

“Do you think that is the best idea?” Jaime asked her bluntly. 

“I do not trust him.” 

“No one should trust Varys, but I don’t think we should let Podrick follow him. We could use the extra hand—” Jaime didn’t realize his own words, and it was The Hound who snorted; Tyrion grinned conspiratorially. Brienne rolled her eyes, sighing at them all. 

The Hound started away from them next.

“Where are _you_ going now?!” She shouted as she moved to block his way. 

“I’m not waiting for that cunt to come back. That cockless fucker would sooner stab us in the back. I’m going to find my brother, and I’m going to kill him. I’ll find you after—if you lot aren’t found out. If you are, well then, I’ll get the little bird myself.” 

Brienne growled, “We cannot just barge into the keep and start killing people!” 

She was immovable as The Hound crowded her space, “I’m not killing people, I’m killing one fucking man. _Now move out of my way_.” 

“You and I both know who will win this fight. I am not letting you go barging into the keep until we have a plan.” Brienne stared The Hound down until he growled, turning away and pushing himself against a rock. 

Brienne turned to the Lannister brothers who were whispering to one another heatedly, “Tyrion, how did Varys help you escape the keep?”

She watched as he turned to smile at her humorously…

***  
  
It must have been her third glass of wine, having forgone her food for the red dram in front of her. Her appetite hadn’t existed for days now. She felt eyes boring through her as she poured a fourth glass…

“What are you staring at?!” She speaks impatiently; the sole sound of scraping utensils against plates, ceases. She is sat at the head of the table, and she eyeballs the man sat beside her. He has the audacity to curl his lip as he continues to watch her silently. Suspiciously. 

“Are you feeling well, my love?” It rolls off her _lover’s_ tongue easily, but his tone is insincere.

“Why would I not be?” Cersei speaks viciously, sparing a glance at the other man seated at their table. Captain Harry Strickland of the Golden Company—a clueless, incapable, dolt of a man, she was loathed to realize. She sees a wariness in his expression as he watches the two of them interact. Cersei turns back to Euron…

“I’m told a woman in your condition who gets too far into their cups while carrying, could harm their babe. I realize that you’ve been preoccupied with trying to find any information about our enemies since Qyburn got a spear in the gut. It seems it is taking its toll.” Euron stares pointedly at her glass. 

“Are you with child? The two of you are unmarried, your grace.” Strickland speaks, awestruck.

She tightens a fist around her glass as she ignores him, a feeling of shame burns through her. The shame isn’t her drinking habit or the words Strickland spoke. 

Instead, she is shamed at having to share her table, a queen’s table, with either man. _Weak. Worthless. Spineless._

She is angry, _vengeful_. 

Cersei swallows her hatred, “You are right, my love. I am tired. Perhaps I should return to my rooms and rest.” She puts on an heir of demureness. _Old habits_.

“You will eat first.” Euron speaks abruptly.

“Excuse me?” Cersei speaks disbelievingly. Euron forcefully pushes her plate towards her.

“You are with child. You need to eat.” He speaks between his teeth. She realizes that he is challenging her. 

“How dare you?! I’ve carried four children in my womb—I know what is right for my child—”

“Four dead children now.” She hears the laughter in his voice. Her eyes widen. His face turns angry, “ _Eat the fucking food_.” 

Cersei works her jaw as she looks between Euron and her plate. 

 _It is poison_ —

She feels The Mountain step in closer from his place behind her. Her heart beats faster as she stares at the plate. _He wants to kill me_. She startles from her thoughts as Euron laughs—his temperament changing again. She looks up to see him watching The Mountain—he was laughing at her guard, not her.

Euron’s gaze lands on her again, “If I wanted to poison you darling, I would have put it in your wine.” He speaks her thoughts aloud, and she swallows tightly. He reaches over, and she flinches. Her face reddens as he smiles viciously and grabs food from her plate. They watch each other as he gnaws the tough meat—his stare, unblinking. 

He swallows the food, kicking out a leg and draping an arm over the chair beside him. “Besides, I would much rather see the red flowing as I cut you open; it wouldn’t be as fun watching it being swallowed down your pretty throat.”

His laughter echoes in the empty hall.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm, this is a little something the professionals like to call, uh, “the rising action” on Freytag’s Pyramid...AKA a “filler chapter“.
> 
> I hope y’all enjoyed it though. 
> 
> Ellaria, my baby...I couldn’t give you up! I also realize the time from death to skeletonization takes years...but whatevs! 
> 
> Jon x Arya...always good.
> 
> Podrick, my good boy! 
> 
> If anyone deserved to go cray cray it was Cersei. I wanted y’all to see the paranoia and power struggle between her and Euron. Sansa got to him so easily...we both know that he’d kill Cersei and put his ass on the throne. I struggled FOREVER with his blood vs. wine line at the end...I wanted it be so badass. I hope it doesn’t fall too flat.
> 
> It’s been a year and a day since Dany burned shit to the ground. Let us not reflect on the past though. We’re fixing all that BULLSHIT in this story! 
> 
> I WANT to finish this before its one year anniversary, but I’d be lying if I said it was going to happen.

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Fic. If you’re out there, let me know what you think...unless it’s mean. I do encourage constructive criticism though.


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